


Dragged into the Blight

by LysandraBlack



Series: The unlikely heroes of Thedas [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically Duncan went to the Dalish and saved Mahariel, F/F, F/M, M/M, Only warden is Mahariel tho, POV Multiple, The rest of them had to take care of themselves, all the others survive their origin arc
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-26 19:42:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 30,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111057
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LysandraBlack/pseuds/LysandraBlack
Summary: Aenor Mahariel really didn't want to be a Warden, and she's dead set on making Alistair know it.Geralt Amell was captured and incarcerated at the Mage Tower, after helping his best friend and forever-crush Jowan escape the Circle.Kallian Tabris got kidnapped and made a terrible deal with her captors to save the other girls, like the brave fighter her late mom taught her to be.Elissa Cousland's world shattered in a night, and now she's looking for justice and allies.Duran Aeducan was betrayed by his own brother, but that doesn't mean he's just gonna go die in the Deep Roads for a crime he didn't commit.Natia Brosca is a duster, and money's her best friend. Leske too, but he's even more unreliable.Somehow, they'll end up crossing their paths and become, if not close friends, at least allies in stopping the coming Blight and setting things right. On the way to save Ferelden, they'll find purpose, love and balance.
Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland (Dragon Age), Female Brosca/Leske (Dragon Age), Female Mahariel/Tamlen (Dragon Age), Leliana/Female Tabris (Dragon Age), Male Amell/Jowan (Dragon Age)
Series: The unlikely heroes of Thedas [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2215770
Comments: 7
Kudos: 3





	1. Brecilian Forest

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
> First things first, English is not my native language. I've written this entire story in Italian and then decided to translate it using apps, patience and all my effort.  
> I hope the result will be satisfying, tho I'm sorry to say that I won't probably be able to express the differences in tone and register from a character to another. 
> 
> I've started writing this because I wasn't satisfyed with the canon bioware offers us: what about all the other possible wardens, once you choose your origin?! They're resourceful people, surely they'd find a way to get out of danger and live on, right? Mahariel was the only one who had to be saved by a Warden.  
> Also, I really wanted to romance Jowan with my M!Amell, and since there aren't nearly enough stories with them, I had to do something about it.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aenor Mahariel is a young dalish hunter, and very proud to be one. She's soon (too soon, some think) gonna celebrate her Bonding with Tamlen, hates the shemlen and could not care less about the world outside her Clan.  
> Things are gonna blow up real fast.

Tamlen shot her a questioning look, his bow pointed at the three humans who had made the mistake of getting too close to the Dalish camp.

"So? What do we do with them?"

Aenor shrugged. "If we let them go, more will come." She brought a hand behind her shoulders, gripping the hilt of the sword and advancing towards the three.

The companion grinned, satisfied with the answer. "Nothing different can be expected from the shems."

The first human didn't even have time to turn to flee, Tamlen's arrow stabbed right into his chest, at heart level.

The second tried to shield himself with his arms, but Aenor's sword cut through his forearms, thrusting into his collarbone.

The third managed to make about ten meters before being shot down by the elf's second arrow.

"Ah, the comforts of the bow: quickness, less blood spatter, being able to strike from a distance..." Tamlen sang jokingly, watching his companion pull the sword out of the man's body. A spray of blood rose from the corpse as it collapsed to the ground. Aenor didn't deign to reply as she cleaned the blade on the dead man's clothes and sheathed it easily.

"What do you think of the cave they say they found?" She asked, peering around. "It could be a lot of nonsense, as far as we know."

Tamlen turned the tablet with the inscriptions the three had given him over in his hands. “I don't know, this has to come from somewhere. And there are hidden ruins all over Ferelden, maybe we're about to find something big."

"We should talk to the Keeper about it." Aenor suggested, unconvinced.

"Don't tell me you believe those shems?" Tamlen asked her, bursting into incredulous laughter. "They probably just saw a bear rather than a demon."

"But what if it really was there?"

He eyed her in amusement, raising an eyebrow. "The great predator is afraid of a bear!" He mocked her, stroking the fletching of one of the arrows he carried in a quiver strapped to his shoulders. "Don't worry, luckily for you, I'm here." He patted her on the head, then walked in the direction the humans had pointed.

"That's what I'm worried about." Aenor muttered resentfully, following him.

They made their way through the trees, in silence, attentive to the sounds of the forest around them. They encountered fresh wolf tracks, a sign that one of the numerous packs of the Brecilian forest had gone hunting.

They reached the cave entrance strangely smoothly.

"Hey, I don't remember ever seeing this before." Tamlen commented in surprise, approaching what had once been a stone pillar, lying in pieces and covered in undergrowth. A path of moss-covered rocks led deep, while stalactites and vines hung from the ceiling.

"I still think it's a bad idea." Aenor could almost sense that something was wrong around here. “We can notify the Keeper and come back here with a few more people. You have no idea what could be down there! "

"We're hunters now, it'll take more than a few stories about a black-eyed demon to scare me... Although I can't say the same about you." He put a hand behind her back. "Besides, if we shake the whole clan for nothing, they'll take us for idiots!"

Aenor snorted. She knew that if she went back to the clan, he would go in there alone. And at least that way she could make sure he didn't get eaten by some giant spider. She shivered at the thought. "There are no caves without giant spiders."

They made their way through the brambles that grew clinging to the rocks, descending lower and lower, until the vegetation gave way to the bare rock.

They passed under an ancient stone arch, coming out into a room also made of stone, supported by large decorated columns. The huge forest roots had carved their way down there, causing part of the ceiling to collapse. A little light filtered in from above, which with the local dust spread ominously throughout the room.

Aenor, in spite of her mood, found herself admiring the architectural skill of those who had built that place: it seemed ancient for who knew how many centuries, yet it had survived all that time.

A sinister ticking immediately brought her back to attention. She drew her sword, signaling Tamlen to be on high alert. She was unable to take more than three steps before a black shape, a couple of times larger than herself, swooped down on her from the ceiling.

She dodged to the right, placing the sword between her and the thing, which turned out to be a giant spider, claws snapping hungry dripping with venom.

Without thinking twice, Aenor swung a powerful blow from below, slicing off one of the beast's hairy legs, which hissed and pulled back, ready to attack again, when a white fletched arrow stuck into one of its too many eyes. Enraged, the spider let out a high-pitched skreech, backing off and wriggling, losing blood.

Two more spiders, slightly smaller than the previous one, sprang up to help it.

"Fenedhis lasa!" She grunted, hitting one of the creatures and throwing it off balance. It fell on its side, legs flailing frantically. "I told you it wasn't a good idea!" She thrust the blade into the beast's head then quickly pulled it out, making sure the poison splashed from the wound didn't hit her.Than she turned to Tamlen, just in time to see him finish the other spider.

Together, they faced the last creature that was hissing and snapping its claws menacingly, and they knocked it down.

"Luckily for us you're here too." He smiled sardonically at her while going to retrieve the arrows.

"Ugh. Don't tell me you reuse them after they've been in those things. " Aenor commented, pointing to the greenish icor dripping from them along with blood and hairy flesh.

"Why waste it? It could be useful. "

She watched him pick up the arrows one by one, inspect them to see if they were still usable and put them back in the quiver.

They went further into the ruins, passing through an old wooden door now rotting. They encountered another couple of spiders, which didn't give too much trouble.

Walking through the corridors, they passed a skeleton covered with cobwebs, probably of some unfortunate adventurer. He still had parts of his armor on him, rusty and useless, the broken hilt of a dagger in his hand.

They turned down a long corridor, noticing other remains, but it was impossible to tell if they had been elves or humans.

At one point, Tamlen accelerated his pace, stopping in front of a statue which portrayed a slender figure with a spear in hand and wearing a long dress.

"It's not possible! Look, do you recognize it?"

"Maybe. It looks familiar."

“When our people still lived in Alrathan, these statues were carved to honor the Creators. After the shems enslaved us, most of them were lost... I don't understand, the whole structure looks like human work, but this statue is definitely elven. Could this place go back to Arlathan's time?" He explained, the excitement of the discovery palpable in his voice.

"Maybe you're right, but there's not much else that can help us down here." She commented laconically.

"Yes, you're right... In any case, there must still be something of value here!" The elf took one last look at the statue, before walking briskly down the corridor, impatient.

"How did you know about the statue?" She asked him, breaking the silence that was making her nervous.

“It was in one of those books that the Keeper doesn't let anyone touch. I think it was Falon'din, but he was a bit different from our usual representation."

"The Friend of the dead'?" Aenor snorted. "This is good luck..."

"He's not an evil god, not like Fen'Harel." Tamlen retorted. "That statue is in such a sinister place." He shrugged, leaving the sentence unfinished.

Aenor looked around. She understood perfectly well, that place gave her the chills. "Why would they leave it here?”

Tamlen shook his head. "I have no idea. This place looks human, but... maybe some of our ancestors lived underground, like dwarves. "

“No one would voluntarily live in such a place…”

“I don't know, Aenor, I have a weird feeling. As if we have... disturbed something by coming down here. " The elf looked around, frowning at the dim light that surrounded them. He the shook his head. "Either way, it'll take a lot more to scare a Dalish hunter."

"I'll remind you of that when we stand upside down in a cocoon of spider web, just waiting to be eaten alive."

“Well, if you didn't want to come, you could have gone back to the camp. By the way,” He turned to look at her, barely hiding an amused grin. "Weren't you supposed to help Master Ilen today?"

She curled a lock of raven hair around her finger and looked at him sideways. "Maybe... But I certainly couldn't let you get into trouble alone, could I?" She walked over to him, smiling. "I'd never miss the fun of being eaten alive by an overweight arachnid."

"Ah, so you followed me for the local wildlife and the thrill of adventure!" He grabbed her hips, pulling her to him. A hand went up to caress the back of her neck as their noses brushed.

"You know me, never a quiet day!" Aenor chuckled, narrowing her eyes and letting his scent inebriate her: it smelled of dry autumn leaves and pine resin, even down there.

When Tamlen's lips rested on her soft ones, Aenor seemed to forget where they were, only their breaths existed, his hands on her back, his tongue caressing hers. She ran a hand through his blond hair, ruffling it and drawing him closer to her.

After a moment, Tamlen pulled away from her, a happy grin his face. “I see that coming here had its benefits…”

“Next time, we can just sneak up behind one of the aravels, you know? There is no need to risk our skin. " She mocked him, brushing his cheek with the back of her hand.

"You have until this winter to reconsider, ma vhenan." He gently took her chin, following the Vallaslin's path with his thumb, which ran down her neck.

"Don't think it's so easy to make me give you up, Lethallin." She took his face, looking him in the eye. "It takes a lot more to break up this union."

"Ma serannas, Aenor Mahariel." He patted her forehead. "Now let's see what's at the bottom of these ruins and go warn Keeper Marethari, before we find ourselves like that guy over there." He pointed to what remained of a skeleton, sadly leaning against a giant root that protruded from the ground. He turned, taking the bow back in his hand and continuing down the dark corridor.

Aenor followed after a moment's hesitation. For a second, the place had seemed less terrible, but that moment was now over. She drew her sword again, facing the darkness.

They were proceeding swiftly when a clanging sound echoed through the stone corridors. They stopped immediately, trying to figure out where it was coming from. They heard shuffling footsteps, followed by a hoarse, inhuman cry which made the blood chill in their veins.

"Fenedhis lasa!" Tamlen exclaimed in horror as a skeleton advanced towards them, the hollow holes where the eyes should have been now glowing embers, pieces of armor hanging from the body and a two-handed sword raised high. The shock didn't last long and after a moment he nocked an arrow and aimed at the head. Unfortunately it hit the helmet, bouncing off.

"Time to go back being dead!" Aenor hissed, ignoring her racing heart and slashing to the corpse's chest. It parried with his sword, the old metal that rattled ominously with the impact, the bones rattling as they absorbed the blow.

Without giving it time to fight back, Aenor kicked it in the bones of his pelvis, causing him to stagger backwards. She grasped her sword firmly and with all her strength managed to kick off the creature's head, which swayed to the ground, the bones scattering across the floor.

"What was that thing?!" Tamlen exclaimed. "There must be dark magic to wake the dead."

"Well, good luck to this one if it wants to wake up again." She retorted, kicking the skeleton's head again and sending it rolling even farther. "Better and better, I'd say." She said sarcastically, slowly advancing towards a large wooden door topped by a stone arch, ready to attack whatever jumped out of the darkness.

The door was closed, but they managed to break it open with a well-aimed push.

Aenor entered first, taking a few tentative steps towards the center of the room. Something large and shiny caught her attention, but before she could figure out what it was, an aggressive roar took her by surprise.

Something big and hairy crashed into her, knocking her to the ground. She banged her head on the hard stone, her vision darkening for a few seconds, trying to free herself from what must have been a paw, bigger than her, pressed against her chest.

"Hey!" She heard Talmen scream, then the weight was gone.

Trying to catch her breath, she staggered to her feet. A yelp signaled that one of his companion's arrows had hit. Without wasting time, she recovered the sword that had slipped a little farther and launched into the attack with a lunge, surprising it from behind and leaving a gash in the side of the beast. She let out a shrill moan, then faced it again.

She took a moment to understand what that thing was: it was shaped like a large bear, its fur torn and bloody that gave way to bony spikes, and underneath them purple flesh, sick and nauseating. It gave off a stench of rottenness and putrefaction.

Another of Tamlen's arrows lodged in the beast's shoulder, giving her the opportunity to take another strike to the hind leg. The creature collapsed to the ground, trying to get up by shifting its weight to its other legs. The elf hit ot first on the shoulder, then in the eye, making itr growl in pain and giving her partner room to maneuver. She gathered all her energy in a last blow to the side of the beast, sticking the sword between its ribs and pushing with all her weight until it was in almost in to the hilt.

The creature fell on its side, flinching in spasms, then collapsed to the floor, a patch of black blood spreading beneath it.

Aenor fell to the ground, exhausted, hands on her knees, trying to catch her breath.. "I hate this place."

"Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. "I don't think so." She stretched out her legs, still shaking. "Creators, what was that thing?"

The other. “I don't know and I don't want to. I just hope there aren't any others. " His gaze fell to the center of the room and didn't blink, like mesmerized.

Aenor turned in the same direction, noting that the shimmering structure she had seen upon entering was actually made up of a reflective plate, adorned with two large stone statues that seemed to be guarding it.

"Wonderful, isn't it?" Tamlen said, approaching it.

The girl struggled to her feet, a bad feeling gripping her stomach.

"I wonder what the engravings mean..."

She looked at Tamlen while he climbed the three steps to the mirror, enraptured by it.

"Probably, 'don't touch me'." She warned him, hurrying to reach him and grabbing his hand before he could touch anything.

“Don't worry, we wouldn't be able to break it even if we tried, I think. See how clean the surface is? Not even a crack or a speck of dust, it's amazing! I would really like to know what the scriptures say- Hey!" He jumped, pulling his hand free from Aenor's. "Have you seen? Something moved!" He scanned the glass with a feverish look.

“Tamlen, please walk away. It may be dangerous." She begged him. That mirror had something wrong about it.

“Don't worry, I just want... Here! I saw it again! Did you ?!" He jumped excitedly, getting even closer to the glass, almost touching it.

It seemed to Aenor that she saw something like a glare on the surface. She took a step back, startled. "Tamlen, let's go away."

"Do you feel it? I think it knows we're here." He ignored her, concentrating solely on the glass. "I see something, it looks like a city but... underground?" He touched the mirror, which reacted with a series of concentric ripples, as if he had thrown a stone into a crystal-clear pool on a windless day. "And a great darkness-" He jumped, his eyes widening in an expression of terror. "It saw me! It saw me! I- I can't look away!”

Tamlen let out a horrified yelp. "Help!" He screamed as multiple ripples formed on the surface of the mirror.

"Tamlen!" Aenor shot forward to grab him, but before she could reach his armo she was thrown back, blinded by a bright white light that seemed to crack her head.

  
  


  
  


Aenor opened her eyes with difficulty, looking around. She was lying on a bedroll next to one of her clan's aravels. She sat up, her head spinning, her guts feeling like they were on fire. "Tamlen." An insistent ringing in her ears kept her from thinking straight, but finding Tamlen was important.

She staggered to her feet and stumbled to catch up with Fenarel, her friend, who was sitting under a tree not far from her.

"You're awake, you must have the Gods on your side, lethallan!" He greeted her warmly. "We were all worried about you, how are you feeling?"

"Tamlen. Where is he?" She interrupted him. Something was wrong. How had she returned to the camp?

The boy put on a worried face. "We do not know. The shem who brought you here said he didn't see him anywhere. "

"The shem?" She asked. "There were humans, but we got rid of them..." She remembered that, at least.

"No, I'm talking about the shem who brought you back here two days ago. You really don't remember?"

"Two days?!" Aenor exhaled, horrified. "Two days that you don't know where Talmen is, and no one has gone looking for him yet?!" A dizziness caught her off guard, making her stagger.

Fenarel tried to grab her, but she pulled away roughly. "Most of our hunters are out looking for him, but that shem hasn't told us where the cave is... He says he's a Gray Warden, that one."

Aenor ignored him, she didn't care about the shem, she just wanted to make sure Tamlen was alive.

“Anyway, the Keeper said she wanted to talk to you, as soon as you woke up, I'll go get her. Sit down." Fenarel said, hurrying off and returning with Keeper Marethari.

Aenor had paced back and forth the entire time, unable to sit down, anxious.

“I see you're feeling better, da'len. We were lucky Duncan found you. It was hard even for my magic to free you from whatever that darkness was, it seemed to suck your life out." Marethari greeted her with concern on her frowning face.

"So whatever it was, it might have taken Tamlen too?" Aenor asked, a lump in her throat.

“If he met the same entity, then yes. The Gray Warden says he found you outside a cave, already affected by evil. Duncan thinks there might have been darkspawn in those caves... is that true?" The woman asked.

Aenor shook her head. "I only remember the mirror."

"A mirror? Did a mirror do all this? I've never heard of it, in all my research." She sighed. “I was hoping to get some answers, but it seems it's the questions that are increasing. And Tamlen is still missing, his life is more important than any artifact. If he was infected in the same way you were, then he's in terrible danger. Duncan has returned to the cave to look forDarkspawn, but we can't rely on him alone to find one of our own. "

“I'll go. I know where the cave is, and Tamlen-” Aenor said, halting immediately. Just thinking that something may have happened to him was painful.

"Have you recovered enough, da'len?" Marethari asked her.

The girl tried to appear as resolute as possible. "I'm fine. And I'm the only one here who knows where the cave is. If something happened to Tamlen-” She took a deep breath, blinking back the tears. "I have to find him, Keeper."

Marethari smiled tiredly. After all, even if they had not yet participated in the Union ritual, the affection that bound Aenor and Tamlen was no secret to anyone in the clan. "Very well. I have given orders to the clan to pack their bags, we will leave soon to the North, it's time to move. Take Merrill with you, go to these ruins and find Tamlen, if you can."

Aenor nodded, then walked away without saying anything else in search of Merril, the First of the Keeper.

Fenarel ran after her. "Aenor!"

She didn't even stop. "Yeah?"

“Are you going to find Tamlen? I'll come with you." He was a hunter, and having another sword to rely on certainly suited her. Aenor thanked him as they went to retrieve Merrill.

On the way, they met Junar, also one of the hunters, and another elf that Aenor had never seen before. His face was clean, without a Vallaslin, yet he seemed to be about their age.

"I'm glad you're back!" Junar greeted her. "You weren't here when Pol arrived, were you?" He pointed to the boy beside him, who blushed slightly, greeting her in turn. "Pol is a Flat Ears, he arrived a few days ago from one of the human cities."

"Not now, I really don't care." Aenor cut him off rudely, continuing on her way. That a few Flat Ears had taken refuge from the Clan was nothing new, but most of them tended not to last long. They weren't hunters, lifelong trained and raised in the forest. Not like her, or Tamlen. Tamlen was strong, and smart, he would be fine.

They reached Merrill, who was already waiting for them at the edge of the camp.

“As the Keeper's apprentice, I may find something that has escaped your eye. In any case, the primary goal is to find Tamlen."

The forest looked darker and more hostile than usual as the three walked through it.

Suddenly, Aenor noticed something in the bush. She listened, gesturing to the others to be alert and ready their weapons. Merrill drew her magic staff as Fenarel drew his sword, gripping it in his left hand while holding a small wooden shield in his right.

Aenor crept up to the creature: shorter and stockier than her, it stil had a human form. Without wondering what it was, she charged, catching it by surprise and disarming it with a precise blow. Fenarel arrived shortly after, hitting the creature from behind and killing it.

They briefly stopped to examine it: apart from having two arms, two legs and a head, it looked like nothing they'd ever seen before. The head was misshapen, with pointed teeth protruding from the mouth and the face contorted into a malevolent grin, and the skin appeared to have been fused with pieces of metal nailed to the skull. A jumble of pieces of different materials and shapes made up the light armor, covered with spikes of sharp steel. The weapon, a jagged-looking sword, had been crudely assembled and looked more like a mad butcher's knife than an actual sword.

"What is this thing? Darkspawn?" Merrill asked, clearly upset.

"I have no idea. In any case, if there are others, we need to move. Tamlen could be in danger." Aenor answered abruptly, setting off again and hastening her pace. Giant spiders were one thing, but Darkspawn? They weren't trained to fight that stuff. They had to find Tamlen and get out of there as soon as possible.

Before reaching the ruin, they encountered two more of those creatures, which they managed to kill, albeit with some difficulty. Aenor realized that despite pretending to have recovered, her legs were heavy and the hands holding the sword were shaking slightly.

As they entered the cave, Merrill looked around in admiration. "Interesting."

Aenor ignored her.

“We need to find Tamlen. Or what's left of him, I doubt he's still alive, with those monsters around…” Said Merrill, her voice almost a whisper.

Aenor whirled around, facing her, furious. "Shut up. Youdon't know. " Sh growled, looking her straight in the eye.

The mage seemed to realize her error, because she bowed the head in apology. “I'm sorry, you're right. Ma serannas."

"Let's not waste any more time." Aenor spat, turning and starting to walk again, the sword held ad firmly as she could in front of her. She would find Tamlen, no matter if they had to face a dragon to do so.

They walked through the corridors, retracing the route Aenor and Tamlen had taken two days earlier. They encountered small groups of those monsters, but somehow managed to get away, also and above all thanks to Merrill's spells. Finally, they reached the room that contained the mirror. They entered, surprised to find that someone was already there.

Aenor felt her heart tighten, realizing that the figure was not Tamlen but a human.

“Ah, I felt someone fighting the Darkspawn. You're the girI found in the forest, aren't you? I'm surprised to find you already healed." He greeted her.

"I have no idea who you are, shem."

"Even if he didn't save your life, a Gray Warden deserves respect." Merrill scolded her.

Aenor felt another fit of annoyance at her friend. The man might as well have been the King of the Shems himself, she didn't care.

Before she could argue, the human cut her off, raising a hand. “You don't owe me anything. It was my duty to bring one of their wounded hunters back to the clan, the Gray Wardens and the Dalish have long been allies. "

"We're looking for Tamlen, our companion." Aenor said, with no intention of wasting time talking to a shem, Gray Warden or not. "I was here with him, he touched the mirror and then..." She fell silent, unsure of what had really happened.

“The mirror attracts Darkspawn. The Gray Wardens have found other mirrors before, believed to have been used in the Tevinter Imperium to communicate. Over time, some broke apart, becoming tainted with the same corruption as the Darkspawn's... If Tamlen touched the mirror, he must have brought it out. That's what infected you, and it sure infected him too." The man explained.

Aenor listened intently. Something was wrong with her, but this "corruption" would explain why she felt so weak, despite the care of their Keeper. "So, I contracted the Darkspawn infection."

Duncan nodded gravely. “I know you can feel it inside you. The cures are only temporary, I can feel how it is spreading. And as long as this mirror exists, it can infect others. "

The girl remained silent. Probably, what the man was saying was the truth.

"For now, we have to deal with the mirror." Duncan ruled, pulling out one of the two daggers he carried on his belt and turning to the artifact. He struck hard, shattering the glass, releasing an energy Aenor could not identify. "Let's go, I have to talk to the Keeper about a cure for you." the man said.

"And Tamlen?"

"There's nothing we can do for him."

"I'm not going anywhere without him!" Aenor screamed furiously. The shem could go back to wherever he came from, she didn't need him or care about him. "Fen'Harel ma halam, shemlen, you are free to go!" She stepped aside to allow him to get out of the way.

He remained impassive in front of her outburst. “I'll be clear: there's nothing you can do for him. It's been three days since he got infected, without him being cured. You survived thanks to the care of your Keeper. But Tamlen, there's no hope for him. You have to trust me."

Aenor definitely lost his temper. “Trust you?! A shemlen ?! I have no intention of abandoning him, should I face a hundred of those Darkspawn!" She took two steps towards the man, oblivious to the fact that he was much taller than her, stronger and certainly more skilled in fighting. “I don't give a fuck if I die within a few days, I won't leave him. And you can shove your trust up your- "

"Aenor!" Merrill screamed, silencing her.

"Stay out of it!" She snapped at her, turning to face her.

They were staring at her as if she had gone mad. She expected it from Merrill, she was always the odd one, and a shem was not to be trusted... but Fenarel?! She looked at him, almost begging him. “You can't agree with them. You can't abandon your best friend."

Fenarel escaped eye contact, looking down. “Lethallan… if it is indeed darkspawn corruption, I believe the Gray Warden is right. There's nothing we can do for him, it's too late."

The girl had to hold back the tears that stung her eyes. How could they betray her like this? How could they abandon Tamlen to such a hideous fate? She shook her head. "We should have at least found the body."

"The darkspawn will have taken him away." Duncan said. His tone was almost sweet, as if he were indulging a child's whims. Aenor felt her anger mounting even more, towards the shem, towards her so-called friends, especially towards herself. It was her fault.

The truth hit her like a hammer straight to her face: it was all her fault. She could have stopped Tamlen, told him to come back, plead with him, somehow persuade him. Instead, she believed they could face whatever was hiding in those ruins. She had let herself be persuaded by her partner, and now it was he who had paid the consequences, and she who was left alone.

Aenor clenched her fists, letting out a sob, her arms stiff along the body, shutting her eyes closed.

"Alright." She said looking down at the floor, the pieces of mirror glass scattered around the room, now harmless. The others preceded her towards the exit. Fenarel tried to approach her at one point, but something made him give up.

They reached the dalish camp without much problems, although Aenor refused to draw her sword to fight against the Darkspawn they encountered along the way.

"You're back, I'm relieved." Marethari welcomed them. "Duncan, I didn't expect to see you again so soon." The woman looked at them, a distraught expression on her face.

"I didn't even expect to be back any time soon, Keeper." Greeted Duncan.

"Have you any news of Tamlen?" Marethari asked.

Aenor did not answer, remaining silent and staring at the grass. If they went looking for him right away, if that shem hadn't kept the ruins hidden, perhaps some of the hunters would have found Tamlen before the Darkspawn.

"It's too late for him now, he is lost." The human replied.

Marethari sighed, distraught. “It's what I feared. Duncan, I need to speak with you for a moment. Da'len, we'll talk about your treatment later. And tell Hahren Paivel what happened, he'll have to prepare a service for the dead."

_Dead_

The word continued to ring in Aenor's ears hours after the Keeper had spoken it. Fenarel had gone to talk to the Haren, seeing the state his friend was in. He then tried to comfort her, but there was nothing he could do.

As the entire clan huddled around the bonfire to commemorate one of their hunters, Aenor watched them from afar. The Dalish did not mourn death, but accepted it as a natural event of life.

Bullshit. It was all bullshit.

It couldn't be natural, as the last of her loved ones had been ripped off. First his parents, now Tamlen. Vanished into thin air due to a magical disease brought by a cursed mirror. Where was the normality in all of this?!

Night came, and as fires were being lit throughout the camp, the elves gathered to give the boy the last farewell.

"Lethallan, it's time..."

Aenor looked up, recognizing Fenarel. She took the hand he offered her to get up, then approached the others. They were all gathered in a circle, around where the body should have been. Aenor advanced towards the center. The Keeper handed her a small, oval-shaped object. A seed from some tree, which the girl did not recognize. She didn't even care. There would be no one under the roots of that tree, it made no sense. She knelt down, placing her hands on the damp, barely moved earth, inhaling its smell.

“Ir abelas, ma vhenan. Falon'Din enasal enaste. " _I mourn your loss, my heart. May Falon'Din guide you_. She could feel tears running down her cheeks, but she did nothing to stop them. "May he find you soon, emma sa'lath." _My only love, we will meet again soon_. The only consolation of that corruption was that she wouldn't have to wait for long.

"Falon'Din enasal enaste." All the others recited in chorus.

One by one, slowly, each one went away until she was left alone, crouched on the damp earth. She didn't know how long it was, waiting for Corruption to take her too, but when the Keeper put a hand on her shoulder, the sky was now lit by the first light of dawn.

"I need to talk to you, Da'len."

Aenor followed her obediently, with no more strength left in her. Marethari led her to Duncan, who had remained aloof, respectful of the pain of the clan.

“Your Keeper and I have talked, and we have come to an agreement that concerns you. My Order needs help, and you need a cure. I'll be leaving in a few hours, and I hope you'll choose to come with me. You would be an excellent Gray Warden." The man seemed sincere. Aenor, tho, didn't care.

"Thanks, but no."

“Maybe you didn't understand your condition. Corruption cannot be cured, it will eventually kill you anyway. The treatment you received slowed down its spread, but within a few weeks, or less, it will kill you. Joining the Gray Wardens can prevent that."

"I do not care." She shook her head. They didn't understand, how could they?

“A Blight is coming, and we need capable fighters like you. Our Order is the only thing that can stand against the Darkspawn, don't you understand?" Duncan asked her. From the tone, he was beginning to get impatient. "I'm not doing it out of pity, but because I think you have potential."

"Oh, I don't doubt it, shemlen." Aenor interrupted him. “But I have the right to refuse. If I have to die, I'll die the way I like it. And I'll be grateful when the time comes, for I have no reason left to live."

"Da'len! It's not like you to speak like this!" Marethari exclaimed in surprise. “I understand that Tamlen's death was a big blow to you, I know you were really close, but he wouldn't have wanted to see you throw your life away! Not when you can dedicate it to something greater than all of us."

“We will never know what Tamlen wanted. He's dead, isn't he? " The girl retorted. “And I'm still here. No, Duncan of the Gray Wardens, I'm not going anywhere."

The man finally lost his patience. "Then you leave me no choice." He cleared his throat. "I invoke the Right of Conscription on this girl, Aenor Mahariel."

"And I allow it, Duncan of the Gray Wardens." The Keeper answered.

"I'm sorry it wasn't your decision, but the Darkspawn threat is too great to ignore." The man concluded, looking sternly at her.

Aenor's eyes widened. "He can't do it!" She gasped at Marethari. She had made up her mind, she was ready to die, why was the Keeper letting this shemlen take her away against her will?!

“Da'len, I'm doing this for your own good. Don't let yourself die, but fight for all of us." Marethari simply replied, looking at her with compassionate eyes.

Anger took hold of the girl again, who rushed at Duncan in a fit of blind fury. Had she had nothing but the small dagger she wore on her belt, she could even have been a minor threat to the man, but as small, tired, weakened and almost unarmed as she was, it was easy for him to stun her with a blow to the head.


	2. Circle Tower

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt Amell passed his Harrowing, and now his best friend has asked him to join him and his girlfriend in trying to escape the Tower.  
> With Jowan suspected of being a blood mage and Geralt being secretly in love with him for ages, what could possibly go wrong?  
> Everything, of course.

Geralt huffed, incinerating the last giant spider in that damned storage. He scratched his auburn beard, irritated. Not only that stupid Chantry initiate had dragged Jowan into that ridiculous plan, but he himself had gotten involved as well. _What an idiot I am!_ The man thought, waving a hand and knocking over one of the shelves leaning against the wall with a spell, just for the heck of it. _She's just using him to get away from her pathetic life in the Chantry._

He ignored the twinge of jealousy and headed confidently for the warehouse exit.

"Oh, back already?" Elder Enchantress Leorah asked him.

"Of course." Geralt retorted, holding out the request form for the fire rod. "Now, if you could just sign this for me..."

"Certainly, certainly." Muttered the Enchantress, scribbling her signature on the paper. "If you need anything from me, such a promising young man..." She handed the paper back to him.

"Don't hesitate to call me." He promptly replied, grabbing it and bowing his head slightly before walking away. _You lazy bastard._ He thought in disgust. The Enchantress hadn't even tried to dispose of a couple of spiders in the Tower's storerooms, how did they expect her to teach anything to the Apprentices, or moreover to the mages who had already passed the Harrowing!

On the way to Owain's stockroom, he came across one of the Templars who had witnessed his Harrowing, a tall young man with curly blond hair.

"Amell. I'm glad you made it through the Harrowing." He spoke, waving at him.

Geralt had no time to waste, especially with a man who the day before would not have hesitated to kill him in the name of some Maker.

"Yes, I imagine the loss of a promising prisoner would have been devastating to the Order." He sneered at him. He seemed to resent it, for he frowned and tried to retort.

"Not all Templars like to kill mages. And you are in the Tower also and above all to be protected."

Geralt didn't know if the idiot actually meant what he was saying or if he was trained to repeat the same sentence on command whenever the opportunity arose. If mages had been truly free, they wouldn't have needed any protection from the outside world, in fact, it would be quite the opposite. If only the Chantry hadn't so meticulously trained its little soldiers to hunt down any free mages outside the Circles...

"I serve the Maker, and as long as I am guided by Him, I cannot fail." Recited the Templar.

"I feel very reassured, thank you very much..." The mage retorted mockingly, trying to remember the name of the man in front of him.

"Cullen." Said the Templar, probably noticing it. "Honestly, I've never seen an Abomination, nor have I ever killed one."

"I'd have never guessed it."

Cullen went back on the defensive, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "Gregoir would have helped me. And something has to happen before..." He hesitated a moment. "Although, in case nothing happens, could we not notice? Maybe right now one of the Abominations-"

"I knew the Templars were paranoid, but not to this extent." Geralt interrupted him. "If indeed the Tower were infested with Abominations, you would all be dead by now, or better, and us mages would be out of here enjoying this beautiful sunny day on the other side of the lake, sipping goblets of blood for our horrific human sacrifices."

The Templar widened his eyes, frightened for a moment. He recovered quickly, however, and gave him an angry look. "It's not funny. You could be taken seriously."

Geralt raised an eyebrow, looking at him sideways. "The only one here in danger of being taken seriously, and for a coward, is you. Have a good day, ser. And watch out for the Abominations, they have a preference for young blondes, or so I've heard."

He turned on his heels and walked away quickly, leaving the Templar to his worries. He had other things to think about. He quickly retraced his steps to the stockroom, retrieving the rod of fire with no further issues.

The Tranquil made him shudder. To think that it could happen to any of them as soon as they broke the code that the Templars and the Chantry imposed on the Tower was terrifying. To be stripped of one's magical powers as well as any emotion... If Jowan was really on such a risk, Geralt would do anything, anything, to not let it happen to him. Even let him escape with that insipid girl.

He hurried to the chapel, where his friend and the initiate were waiting for him.

"That was fast!" Jowan said enthusiastically.

"Yeah, well, since I have to do everything, at least I don't get lost in chatter." Geralt replied sourly.

"Uh-huh, funny."

"To the depot, then! Freedom awaits us." Said the initiate.

Geralt rolled his eyes. Her petulant voice unnerved him like nothing else.

"Jowan, can I have a word with you?" He asked his friend, but the latter shook his head, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him out of the chapel.

"We can talk about it when we're in the warehouse." He ignored him.

Geralt noticed with annoyance that the man seemed to have eyes only for the initiate, who was walking briskly in front of them. He snorted again, giving up.

They descended the stairs to the first floor, where there was access to the dungeon. The entrance to the storeroom was blocked by a large stone door, covered with runes and carvings.

"The Chantry calls this entrance the 'Victim's Door'. It consists of two hundred and seventy-seven tablets, one for each of the early Templars. It is a reminder of the dangers posed by those cursed with magic." Explained the initiate with a know-it-all tone.

"I don't recall asking for a lecture on the bigoted teachings of the Chantry." Geralt cut her short. "Let's just see if this rod of fire works." He pulled out the artifact, weighing it.

"First, the password." The girl stopped him again. "I obtained it from a Templar who recently accompanied a mage into the vault..."

"And you didn't suspect anything?" Geralt asked, sceptically.

"We have chatted on several occasions. I think he trusts me." The other replied.

The mage gave her a sour look. "Yes, I can imagine how you could have convinced one of those idiots."

"Geralt!" Jowan interjected. "Stop it, you're here to help us, remember? Stop it." He scolded him.

His words struck him like an ice spell. He lowered his gaze. "You're right." He said, swallowing his pride. He looked at the initiate, praying that neither of them could figure out what was buzzing in his head at that moment. "My apologies, Lily." He hoped that was enough. Just saying her name made him sick to his stomach.

The girl shook her head. "Don't worry. You just got over your Harrowing, and we got you into this... it's normal for you to be nervous. Thank you for agreeing to help us." She smiled at him, reassuringly.

 _I certainly didn't do it for you_ Geralt thought, but he bit his tongue to avoid answering her and infuriating Jowan again. This was all to get him out of there, and putting up with that idiot was a small price to pay for helping his friend.

"Sword of the Maker, Tears of the Fade." Pronounced the initiate as she approached the door. Something clicked, a sign that the password had worked. "Now, it must receive the touch of mana. Any spell will do, but hurry."

The two mages exchanged a glance and then cast their spells on the door. It swung open, letting them through. With the second lock, they were not so lucky.

"It doesn't work!" Complained Jowan, after the rod of fire proved useless.

Geralt gripped it firmly and tried again. The beam of fire hit the lock and vanished into thin air.

"Looks like we'll have to find another way to get to the phylacteries..."

"Hey." Jowan called to him. "Something's wrong. We can't cast spells here, did you notice?" He asked him, visibly concerned, showing his palm as if to prove what he had just said.

Geralt tried to throw a fireball at the door, but he could not transform the energy he felt flowing within him into something useful. "Seems you're right." He approached the door, examining the runes carved into the stone. He did not recognize them precisely, but it was easy to see where they came from. "These seals, they are definitely the work of the Templars. They nullify any kind of magic cast within their area of influence."

"That's why Irving and Gregoir use simple keys! The magic ones don't work!" Commented the girl. Geralt could detect a note of panic in her petulant voice.

"Keep calm. There's another door down there. Let's see where it leads." He pointed to the corridor to their right.

"It probably leads to another part of the basement.... What are the chances of there being another entrance?" Jowan whined.

Geralt shrugged. "We've come this far, haven't we? Might as well try." He preceded them to the other door. It was also locked, yet it was made of wood, and there were no visible runes or seals. He made another attempt with the fire rod, which finally proved useful, melting the lock. He opened the door with a kick.

A clank of metal jolted him, and he turned his head.

One of the armors guarding the corridor, broadsword and shield ready to strike, was advancing menacingly towards them.

"Oh, then they're not as dumb as I thought." Geralt grinned, readying a fireball in his right hand and taking aim. He waited for Jowan to unleash one of his ice spells, freezing the sentry's joints, before exploding it in a maelstrom of flames and molten iron. The initiate, who had hidden behind Jowan with a cry of fear, re-emerged from behind his back.

"Will there be more?" She asked, her voice cracking.

"Probably." Geralt replied, barely holding back a laugh. It would take more than that to stop him and Jowan when they were working together. He made his way down the corridor, ready to attack anything that moved.

"Don't worry Lily, we're here to protect you." Hearing Jowan reassure the girl, he felt again the now familiar twinge in his stomach.

Fortunately, he got distracted from the two lovebirds by other sentries in armour, who threw themselves at them as they turned the corner.

With a telekinesis spell, Geralt sent two of them away from him, causing one to drop his spear. The third was pinned to the ground by Jowan, his boots trapped in a block of ice. Wasting no time, Geralt summoned a glyph of paralysis, preventing the two on the ground from getting up and then finishing them off with a series of fireballs. Jowan disintegrated the last one with an arcane bolt. They stropped to catch their breath.

Jowan approached him, raising a hand and brushing his beard. Geralt's heart skipped a beat. The other chuckled, patting his chin as if to drive something out. "I keep telling you, sooner or later you'll get yourself on fire." Geralt paid no attention to the spark the other had pushed away, too busy avoiding blushing and turning the same colour of his own red hair.

"Ah. Thank you." He managed to say, hoping his friend wouldn't notice anything strange. Before he could add anything else, Jowan had already turned to the initiate, pulling her close in an embrace.

Swallowing the bile of jealousy at seeing them so close, Geralt forced himself to stay on the target.

"Let's move on." He hasted the two, preceding them.

They encountered other sentries, but quickly got rid of them.

"I can't wait to get out of here. These things... are not creatures of the Maker." Complained the initiate, looking away from the smoking remains of the armours.

"Some in the Chantry would say the same thing about mages." Geralt retorted acidly, not even giving the other two time to respond and finishing off the last remaining sentry with a spell.

Emerging into a room full of dusty shelves, they were attacked by a pack of small animals, who did not represent a challenge despite the tough, scaly hide that covered them and their sharp teeth. Before the leader of the pack could grab Geralt's leg, Jowan rushed to throw an arcane bolt at it, killing it on the spot.

"You're welcome." He then exclaimed, making a slight bow.

"Don't let it go to your head..." Geralt grinned, slightly amused.

They faced a few more sentries and then emerged into a large room filled with objects, books and other intriguing-looking artefacts. A large trunk with gold inserts caught Geralt's eye and he thoughtlessly went to open it.

"Now we're talking!" He exclaimed, pulling out a wizard's staff of dark wood and iron, twisted on itself. "Not bad." It was about time he found his own magic staff, one that wasn't one of the standard one the Circle gave out to its members. Besides, in the tower it was usually only senior mages and enchanters who carried their staffs on their shoulders, while the younger were not advised to carry weapons without a good reason. That's why he had to go down there without one, as he didn't want to arouse suspicion.

The shelves were full of books, and Geralt found himself studying the covers, enraptured. Who knew what secrets and spells forbidden by the Chantry they contained?

"Hey! This is no time to be a bookworm, is it?" Jowan called him back to reality. "Rather, this statue, doesn't it look odd to you?" He asked, pointing to a stone mabari facing the bookcase Geralt was examining.

"Why does the Circle keep so many Tevinter artefacts in its warehouse?" The initiate asked.

"They have an historical importance, Lily... and they are fascinating.” Jowan answered her.

Among the many things the two mages had in common was an interest in ancient spells and artefacts, especially those that would possibly be considered dangerous or illegal by the Chantry and its Templars. Often, sitting in front of the top floor window of the Tower, they had dreamed about what it would be like to escape from the Circle. Tevinter was obviously the first destination that had come to mind, the only nation in all of Thedas to be ruled entirely by mages. There, magic was not feared, but honoured, and everyone held the most powerful mages in high regard. There were no Templars or an Andrastian Chantry ready to condemn anyone with magical powers.

Anders, one of the Apprentices who sometimes spent time with them, retorted that Blood Magic was common in Tevinter, involving human sacrifice: the Magisters were known to sacrifice their slaves in large numbers to achieve their goals of power.

Niall, another of the Apprentices, had shuddered at the idea, stating that he preferred the peace and safety of the Circle.

"Sure, if you like being watched on day and night, not knowing when you're going to be killed." Geralt had said, noticing that Jowan had remained silent, frowning.

"I think this thing serves as an amplifier, I read that somewhere." Jowan's voice brought his focus back to the room. "Hey, give me a hand moving the bookcase, I have an idea."

Together, they managed to move the heavy antique wooden cabinet to one side, revealing a mouldy wall behind it.

"Let me guess, fire rod?" Gealdt joked, pointing at the mabari statue once they had moved the bookcase. "Couldn't have given it a dumber name..." he mumbled, after Jowan signalled for him to proceed.

The statue absorbed the energy of the rod, projecting a beam that shattered the wall in a deafening explosion.

"They must have heard that one for sure." Geralt commented, waiting for the cloud of smoke and debris to settle. The initiate was in the throes of a coughing fit.

"The phylactery room!" Jowan exclaimed in relief, hurrying through the gap in the wall. The other two followed a short distance behind him. "That shouldn't be hard, there aren't that many."

Before they could finish their sentences, they were attacked by new sentries, who met the same end as the previous ones. They climbed a flight of stairs, reaching the shelves containing the phylacteries.

They examined each shelf, with increasing impatience, until Geralt found what they were looking for.

It was on a low table, along with a couple of other phylacteries. "Strange that it's not on the shelves like the others..." Geralt thought. If Jowan's suspicions were correct, the First Enchanter had probably left it out in anticipation of performing the Ritual of Tranquility shortly.

He handed it to his friend.

"You found it!" Jowan exclaimed radiantly. "I can't believe this little vial stands between me and freedom." He caressed its surface with his fingers, gently. "So fragile..." He whispered rapturously, "so easy to shatter, to severe the hold it has on me..." He opened his hands, letting it fall to the ground, breaking and scattering its contents on the stone floor.

Geralt stared intensely at the patch of blood making its way through the cracks.

"At last, I am free!" Jowan said, a big smile on his face.

Geralt hadn't seen him this happy in a long time, and he couldn't help but smile in return. "How does it feel?"

"Ask me again when we get out of here." His friend replied. He rested a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it. "Thank you, Geralt. We couldn't have done it without you." He told him, suddenly more serious.

The other had again to force himself to pull himself together. "Not at all, you're more than capable of taking care of yourself, you know." He replied. "It's just a pity that my phylactery has already been sent to Denerim."

Jowan tried to reassure him. "You're too powerful to worry about a couple of Templars. If they should find you-"

"When, you mean. There's no way to avoid them if they have my blood." Geralt interrupted him.

"Either way, you'd get rid of it no problem. I know you can do it." Jowan continued undaunted. He sounded so sure, the expression on his face serious and determined, that Geralt came to believe him. His friend's dark eyes glowed in the light of the bluish candles on the walls of the room, and he suddenly realised how close they were. He could almost hear Jowan's breathing, rapid and excited by the new feeling of freedom. He swallowed dryly, stepping back and turning to the side, hoping that the dim light and his beard would hide the blush on his cheeks.

"Let's move, we're running out of time." He said to break the silence.

"I don't want to stay here a moment longer." The initiate agreed.

Geralt snorted, for a moment he had forgotten about the girl's presence.

They headed for the main entrance door, which they found opened without difficulty from the inside. They hurried along the corridor leading to the exit.

"We did it!" Jowan whispered, barely containing his elation. "I almost can't believe it! Now, we just have to-"

"So, what you said was true, Irving."

Geralt felt the blood run cold in his veins. They turned, horrified, to see Commander Gregoir, accompanied by two other Templars, and First Enchanter Irving arrive. He could not hold back a cuss.

"An initiate conspiring with a blood mage. I'm very disappointed, Lily." Gregoir spoke. He approached, as if to examine her. Jowan automatically moved in front of the girl, shielding her with his own body. "She seems distraught, but in full possession of her mental faculties. Not the work of the blood mage, then." The Commander continued, not at all impressed, then turning back to Irving. "You were right. Irving, this initiate has betrayed us. The Chantry will not allow it to go unpunished." His gaze then fell on Geralt, who instinctively clenched his fists around his new magic staff, ready to defend himself. "And this one, newly an enchanter, already mocking the rules of the Circle."

"It's not his fault!" Jowan interjected. "It was my idea!"

"Jowan." Geralt shushed him in a firm voice. He was grateful to his friend for sticking up for him, but after all, all three of them were to blame. And if they had to fight their way out of there, they would face Gregoir and his Templars, Irving and everyone else, no matter if they died. It was still preferable to what awaited them both if they were to be captured alive.

"That's enough!" Gregoir interrupted them. "As Knight Commander of this Circle, I sentence this blood mage to death." He brought his left hand behind his shoulders, to grasp the hilt of the two-handed sword he carried on his back. "And this initiate has made a mockery of the Chantry and its vows. Take her to Aeonar." The Templars behind him obeyed, taking a few steps in the direction of the girl, who trembled as she clung to Jowan's arm.

"The... the mage' prison. No, please, no. Not down there!" She stammered in panic, backing away.

"No! I will not let you touch her!" Screamed Jowan, pulling something shiny from his robe.

It happened so quickly.

The blade fell nimbly to the skin, causing a splash of blood to spread across the carpet. A reddish cloud rose from it, its tentacles stretching out and swirling around the mage. Jowan gathered the energy and directed it at the Templars, who were struck full force with no time to defend themselves, knocking them to the ground and stunning them.

Geralt looked at his friend, shocked and speechless.

The initiate gave a cry of terror. "How could you?! You said you never..." She stepped back, her eyes wide and focused on Jowan.

"I admit, I... dabbled in blood magic! I thought it would make me a stronger mage!" He tried to explain, the tone of his voice pleading.

"Blood magic is evil, Jowan! It corrupts people, it changes them..." She stammered, risking tripping over the body of one of the unconscious Templars.

"I will give it up, all of my magic." He tried to calm her down. "I want to be with you, Lily. Please come with me..."

"I trusted you. I was ready to sacrifice everything for you... I..." The girl shook her head. "I don't know who you are, blood mage. Stay away from me!"

"Lily..." Jowan gasped. Geralt noticed that he was crying.

A sudden movement alerted him, one of the Templars was waking up.

"Jowan, we have to go." He called to his friend, trying to reason with him. "Jowan!" He shouted, getting no response.

The other was petrified, his gaze fixed on emptiness. The soft sobs of the initiate were the only sound in the room until one of the Templars turned on his side, his armour screeching against the stone floor.

"Jowan!" Geralt shouted again, grabbing the magic staff firmly and casting a rune of paralysis on the templar, preventing him from getting up. "We have to go!" He grabbed him by the arm, shaking him.

His friend seemed to recover, turning to look at him. "You're... aren't you...?" He stammered.

"I'm furious, but there's no time to slap you now!" Geralt shushed him, pushing him towards the exit door. They quickly slipped through the corridor, running at breakneck speed through the ground floor of the Tower. They encountered some Apprentices, who were quick to move out of the way. Catching one of the Templars by surprise, Geralt hit him from behind with a telekinesis spell, then cast a paralysis rune. Without even checking that it had taken effect, they scampered down the stairs. Fortunately, the entrance hall contained only two other Templars.

By now, however, they could no longer count on the element of surprise.

The two, among whom Geralt recognised the young blond man who had taken part in his Harrowing, Cullen, were waiting for them, weapons drawn.

The mages knew not to give them time to cast an anti-magic aura. Holding their staves, they were ready to fight.

Geralt threw a fireball in the direction of the two knights, forcing them to jump to the side to avoid it. One of them was hit by Jowan's ice spell, which caused him to fall to the ground.

Cullen recovered quickly, throwing his antimagic aura at Jowan, who was closest to the exit door. The mage staggered, giving the Templar the opportunity to attack.

Before he could strike, Geralt threw a Rock Armour at his friend, giving him temporary magical protection that allowed his companion to take the blow with almost no damage. The warrior did not lose heart, and with a grunt prepared to strike again, this time using his shield, knocking Jowan to the ground.

Geralt screamed his friend's name, fear gripping his guts.

"There they are!" He heard someone shouting behind them.

 _Gregoir._ He recognised the voice. _He's going to kill him_.

He realised what he had to do. He looked at Jowan, who was trying to move away from the Templar towering above him, sword raised, ready to deliver the killing blow.

Geralt inhaled deeply, gathering the last remaining energy.

He cast a telekinesis spell on his friend, sending him across the room to the front door, hoping the stone armour would protect him from the impact.

The Templar looked at him with surprise, before preparing to cast his anti-magic aura again. Geralt clutched the magic staff spasmodically, raising it in front of him. Agitated shouts and the clanking of armour signalled that Gregoir and his Templars had reached them.

Before casting the spell, he met Jowan's horrified gaze. He saw his friend's lips move, but the energy he was gathering and the din in the hall prevented him from hearing any of his words. He smiled one last time before releasing a giant fireball against the ceiling, exploding the entire hall into an inferno of flame and debris.

When he regained consciousness, he noticed that something was preventing him from moving. It was dark, the air smelled musty and damp. His back was resting on what felt like rock, cold and slippery. He shook his arms, and from the clanking sound he knew he was chained. He tried to move his legs, to no avail. They had immobilized him. From the nausea that gripped him and the pounding in his head, they were probably chains engraved with runes that nullified magic. Something slimy dripped onto his eyelids, and he felt his beard and long hair, now disheveled, crusted with dirt. A particularly painful twinge in his chest made him notice that he was in bad shape, probably with numerous grazes, burns and various wounds scattered around his body.

To be perfectly honest, he was surprised to be still alive.

"That'll teach me to blow up ceilings." He croaked, his hoarse voice echoing off the bare walls of the cramped cell. His throat ached from thirst and he had no idea how much time had passed since their escape attempt.

Jowan. Had he made it? Had he managed to give him enough time to escape, or had he been caught after only a few meters outside the Tower? The terror of not knowing what had happened to his friend was even greater than the one for himself.

A blood mage. He'd had his suspects, of course, but if only he'd told him... They'd always told each other everything, hadn't they? _Well, almost everything_ , he admitted reluctantly. Although he'd known for years that what he felt for Jowan wasn't simple brotherly affection, the other had never seemed interested, or inclined to that sort of relationship, so Geralt had never tried anything, afraid that his friend might reject him and even avoid him.

He rested the back of his head on the stone, feeling drained of any energy.

If he had not even managed to guarantee his escape... He felt himself sinking into despair.

He did not know how much time had passed, but at one point someone woke him up with a slap.

He looked up, his vision focusing on one of the Templars, his armour gleaming in the dark, sword at his side and a shield on the shoulders.

Not that it really mattered how he was equipped, in that condition Geralt doubted he would even be able to walk on his own two feet, attempting to stun the templar and make a run for it was out of the question, even if he wasn't nailed to the floor with those chains.

"You try anything, and I'll rip your head off, mage. Understand?" The man threatened him. Getting no response, he kicked him in the face. "I didn't hear that!"

"Understood." Cackled the mage, feeling the metallic taste of blood in his mouth.

"Damien, he must be able to speak." A second voice, Gregoir.

The Templar Commander made his entrance, occupying most of his vision and forcing him to look up.

Geralt shuddered, afraid of what he knew they were going to do to him. They were going to turn him into a Tranquil, stripped of all emotion. No more excitement in using magic, or curiosity in flipping through a book, no more... whatever it was he felt when he thought of Jowan. For a moment, his friend's smile overlaid the expression of hatred in the Commander's slitted eyes.

"Irving." The templar called, making way for the First Enchanter.

The elderly mage looked even older and weaker than usual. He stared at the prisoner with disgust.

"I expected more from you, Amell." Irving spoke. “How could you help a blood mage escape? Help him destroy his phylactery, too. I'm so very disappointed." He shook his head, as if to reinforce his words.

"Should I care?" Geralt spat a lump of blood onto the ground, jolting the Templar who had hit him. "I helped my best friend escape from this damn prison. And I would do it again, a thousand times over, killing you all if I had to." He returned the pair's gaze, challenging them.

Gregoir burst into a mean laugh. "Ah! Do you think that by making us lose our temper we'll give you a quick death?" He taunted him, looking down on him. "No, it won't be that simple. First, you're going to tell us where that creep of a friend of yours ran off to, then, when everyone's back, we'll subject you to the Ritual of Tranquility. You'll end up cleaning latrines for the rest of your days, traitor."

Gregoir was definitely talking about all the mages who had left for Ostagar. He wanted him to be made Tranquil in front of the whole Circle, so that he could be made an example. In most cases the ritual was done quietly, to prevent the mages from getting spooked and starting to plot escape plans, or revolt... But Geralt and Jowan had gone too far, whatever the Templars did to them now, they would have the full support of the Circle, at least publicly.

"I have no idea where he is." Geralt said, and it was the truth. Jowan had planned his escape with the initiate, but that worthless traitor had abandoned him. Who knows where he had gone to take refuge, all alone in the outside world.

If Gregoir was there to interrogate him, however, one thing was certain: Jowan had managed to evade the Templars and get away from the Tower without them being able to stop him.

"We'll see, if you don't come up with something." The Commander threatened him. "In any case, in a few weeks it will be impossible for you to resist talking. After the Ritual, all we'll have to do is ask you where that blood mage is, and you'll provide us with all the information we need, without batting an eyelid." Having said this, he turned on his heel, leaving with quick steps.

Irving, who had not spoken since but had been looking at him the whole time with an expression somewhere between disgust and disappointment, nodded before following the Commander out of the cell.

He was left alone with the other Templar, who kicked him in the side before exiting the cell and locking it. He then sat down on a bench, exactly on opposite the entrance, without taking his eyes off him from under his helmet.

Geralt allowed himself a groan of pain, curling in on himself as far as the chains would allow to.

He remained in the darkness for days, mulling over what he could do to get out of there. The plan he and Jowan had devised wasn't perfect, of course, but if Irwin and Gregoir hadn't noticed their break-in so early, it might have worked.

He sighed, resentful.

Who knows if Jowan had made it. He wouldn't have been the first mage to escape from the Tower, only a few months Anders had finally managed to evade the Templars and go into hiding... and by all accounts they hadn't caught him yet.

Footsteps awakened him from his thoughts.

A familiar face appeared in front of the cell door, looking at him with concern.

"Geralt?" The man called, coming even closer until he touched the bars.

The prisoner tried as hard as he could to sit up, cracking an attempt at a smile at his friend. "Niall. I didn't think they'd let someone visit me."

"What were you thinking?!" The other scolded him, almost shouting. "And Jowan! How long has he been a blood mage?"

Geralt sighed. Niall would never understand the desire for freedom that had driven them to try to break out of the Tower. "Niall, you don't want to get involved in this, trust me."

" _Trust you?_ How can you even say such a thing! First Anders, now you and Jowan! Is it possible that every friend I have decides to go crazy and try to get himself killed?"

Geralt kept at bay the irritation. "It's not our fault you're content to spend your life in a cage, Niall. Some of us would like to see what lies beyond Lake Calenhad, without having to wait to be called into the service of some Lord or King who would put a collar and chains on us." He retorted.

"You sound like Anders."

"Because he was right!" Geralt lost patience, raising his voice. "He was damn right, and we could have been out of here long ago if we hadn't been too afraid to face the Templars! And rightly so, he didn't wait for us, and now he's likely enjoying his freedom somewhere while I'm locked up in here waiting for the mighty Enchanters to come back and decide whether to kill me or make me a puppet, not even knowing if Jowan is alive!"

A long silence followed, disturbed only by the drops of water falling from the ceiling and ticking on the stone floor.

"They haven't caught him yet." Niall finally said. "Gregoir is furious, he's sending as many Templars as he can after him, but between those at Ostagar and those who have to stay here, there aren't many of them. Jowan is probably already on the other side of the Ferelden."

Geralt held his breath, delighted at the news and grateful to his friend.

"I'd worry about yourself, Geralt. They have every intention of making a big show out of this. Rumours of blood magic and rebellion have been circulating for months, and your attempt to escape has only reinforced Gregoir's notion that we must be kept under closer scrutiny." Niall continued. "They want to make an example of you, so as to discourage possible copycats. As soon as everyone returns from Ostagar..."

Geralt listened to his friend without batting an eyelid. What he had just said only confirmed what he already knew. Things were not gonna come out well for him, no matter what.

"At least I tried." He said simply. "And Jowan made it."

Niall looked at him, and in his gaze Geralt sensed that his friend noticed more than Geralt would have liked him to know. "I have to go now. They only gave me a few minutes." He said. "I wish you would have told me. Maybe I could have talked you out of it."

"You would have only gotten into trouble, and for nothing." Geralt retorted. "It's not your fault, there's nothing you could have done to stop us, and at worst you'd be chained up here next to me." Niall seemed to want to reply, but Geralt interrupted him before he could open his mouth. "You better get back upstairs before they start suspecting you, too."

Niall nodded. He greeted him with a wave of his hand, then turned and disappeared down the corridor.

Geralt leaned back against the wall again, unable to suppress a sad smile. At least two of his friends had succeeded, and one was blissfully unaware of how much his life in a golden cage sucked.


	3. Denerim Alienage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kallian Tabris' getting married. Not a dream come true, but one has to settle in a place like the Alienage, and her life will be good. Until some nobles crash her wedding day and decide to kidnap her along with her friends and cousin, and she ends up having to make a very difficult choice to save them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague description of non-consensual sex/rape/torture. I tried to be as less desctiptive as possible, but it could trigger someone. Vaughan and his accomplices are disgusting pieces of crap.

Kallian yawned audibly, getting out of bed. Shianni, her cousin, had stirred her up, barging into her room and unceremoniously inviting her to get a move on.

She headed for the mirror, grabbing the brush and trying to make sense of the mass of brown hair shooting out in all directions. She combed it vigorously with her hands, gathering big strands into two braids on either side of her head and leaving the rest to fall over her shoulders.

That was the big day.

She had to admit that at first she was not enthusiastic about getting married to a total stranger, but when she asked about her future husband, he was described as a very good catch.

Apprentice at a blacksmith's forge, no less.

She opened the trunk containing the few clothes she owned and took out the dress for the ceremony. It consisted of a white dress with a boat neckline, decorated with coloured stones, with long sleeves and slightly wider at the bottom. She took one last look in the mirror before leaving: the white of the dress was almost blinding, contrasting with her ebony skin. At least, she thought it looked like ebony, she had never actually seen that tree, but a merchant had sung the praises of the almost black wood, comparing it to her beauty. Obviously it had been a tactic, not too hidden, to get her into his bed. The offer had been politely rejected, but the compliment had stuck in her mind. After all, she was the only one in the whole enclave who had skin so dark, like her late mother.

She straightened her skirt and went into the living room of the small house, where her father was waiting.

"Ah, my little girl." He greeted her. "That's the last time I can call you that..." He justified himself, seeing his daughter snort in annoyance. "You look gorgeous, sweetheart. I wish your mother could see you." He pulled her into a loving embrace, his eyes bright.

"Me too, father." Kallian returned the embrace. "It's almost time." He said, trying to hide the tension in his own voice.

"Go find Soris. The sooner the ceremony starts, the less chance you have of getting away." Ceylon said caressing her cheek before stepping aside, ponting at the door with a nod.

"Don't worry, we'll be behave." She tried to reassure him.

She was already opening the door when her father interrupted her again.

"Honey, one last thing."

She turned to look at him, questioningly.

"What your mother taught you, archery, knife handling.... Maybe it's best to leave your spouse in the dark for now."

"He's going to find out sooner or later, father." She replied with a shrug. "Anyway, it's not exactly the first topic of conversation that would have come to my mind." She waved at him, before opening the door and stepping out.

The din of the enclave greeted her like any other day. Busy elves walked under the weight of large sacks and crates, while wispy-looking dogs chased or watched from afar. A couple of drunken-looking elves were sitting on barrels in front of Alarith's shop, where they had probably spent their few coppers on bad wine. Some children were chasing each other through the mud, waving wooden sticks like swords.

She walked quickly towards the Vhenadahl, noticing that someone had added small decorations to the large tree growing in the middle of the square, probably in honour of that day's ceremony. A couple greeted her by waving their hands, smiling.

"Kallian?" Someone called her.

She looked around, not recognizing the voice. A pair of elves, probably her father's age, signaled for her to come closer.

"How you've grown!" The woman greeted her, a benevolent smile on her face. "Darling, it's such an important day today!"

Kallian smiled back, unsure of what to say and trying to hide her embarrassment.

"Don't worry." The other reassured her, putting an arm around her companion's shoulders. "Honey, she can't remember us." He said to his wife.

She clasped her hands together. "Oh, sure. Excuse us. My name is Dilwyn, and this is Gethon. We were friends of your mother's, you know." They introduced themselves. "We haven't seen you since she..."

"How do you do?" Kallian said, shaking the hand the woman was holding out to her.

"Adaia was beautiful, and so lively. And a little wild." The woman continued, looking at her sideways and not ceasing to smile. "I wonder if you took from her."

"It's so sad that she's not here, that she can't see you so grown up." Her husband agreed, sadly.

"They all say she was an extraordinary woman." Kallian didn't quite know what to say. Her mother had died when she was a child, almost ten years before. She remembered the fairy tales she told her at bedtime, of knights and mages and heroes, and when she had given her her first bow: her first lessons with it, when the arrow would go far, getting lost in the mud and scaring the cats that hid in the alleys of the Enclave.

"We wanted to see you today and wish you well." Explained the woman.

Her husband handed Kallian a small, swollen leather pouch. "We have put something aside, to help you start your new life."

Kallian accepted the gift, touched. "Thank you, but you shouldn't have..."

"It gives us great joy, dear." The woman interrupted her. "May the Maker watch over you. Now go, you don't want to be late for the ceremony!" She spurred her on, giving her an affectionate pat on the shoulder. "I hear the groom is quite the catch!"

She put the bag of money in her pocket, walking away as she looked for her cousin in the crowd.

"Soris!" She called to him, seeing the young red-haired elf leaning under a wooden scaffold. "I thought you had run away."

"Ah, there you are at last, my lucky cousin!" He exclaimed. "Ready to celebrate the end of our freedom?"

"Hey, there's still time to make a run for it." Kallian joked.

"Sure, we could look for the Dalish in the woods, I bet they'll be easy to find."

Kallian knew that although he was complaining so much about that marriage, Soris would never have the courage to go anywhere. The Enclave was their home after all.

Smelly, dangerous, generally unpleasant and often prey to humans who liked to prey on the weak, but home nonetheless.

"You make it easy. Your betrothed is a dream come true. My future wife, on the other hand, sounds like a rat screeching in agony when she opens her mouth." Her cousin continued, demoralized.

"Soris!" She cackled. "You're not exactly a prince yourself, you know."

He shrugged. "If you want, we can swap."

Kallian burst out laughing. "Sure, they'll be totally fine with it. Come on, let's go before I have to drag you down there." She spurred him on, leading the way to the wooden platform that had been set up to host the two weddings.

On the way, they were interrupted again by a blond elf, whom Kallian knew by sight.

"Ah, there's the man of the hour! How are you doing, Soris?" He exclaimed, patting his friend on the shoulder.

The other greeted him, unconvinced. "All is well. This is my cousin, the bride.... Well, the other bride, not my bride, of course!" He blushed violently, stuttering. Kallian couldn't hold back a laugh.

The elf greeted her courteously. "My best wishes to you both..." He seemed troubled by something. "Soris, my brothers are not coming. They have gone off to find the Dalish. Rumour has it there's a passing clan a few days' walk from the city." He huffed, unconvinced. "Alarith must have told one of his stories again and they apparently believed him."

Kallian knew that the owner of the only shop in the Enclave claimed to have been rescued by wood elves several years earlier during an ambush by a group of brigands. Some said he was a slave from Tevinter, and the Dalish saved him from being taken back to the Imperium.

"Don't worry, Taedor. Give them a couple of days and they'll be back home, ashamed and hungry." Soris reassured him.

His friend seemed not to count on it too much, but nodded. "Let's hope so. Best wishes to you both, again." He took his leave, leaving them to their own devices.

The group of children she had seen earlier playing with sticks darted out in front of them, chasing each other and slashing with their wooden weapons.

"They remind me of us." Soris commented with a smile.

"Oh, yeah. I always won." Retorted Kallian in amusement. "Hey, there's Shianni!" She pointed at her friend, but the smile froze on her face.

Three richly dressed humans made their way through the small crowd of elves, who recoiled in fear.

"It's a party, right?" She heard one of them, an unpleasant-looking young man, say "take a whore and have fun!" He burst out laughing, a sound that had nothing joyful about it. He looked at Shianni, squaring her up and down with a predatory look. "Enjoy the hunt, boys. Look at this one, so young and delicate..." He tried to grasp her arm, but she jumped back.

"Touch me and I'll cut your throat, you pig!" She shouted after him, not at all frightened.

"Please, my lord! We are celebrating weddings today." Pleaded another elf, bowing to the man.

"Shut up, you worm!" The one slapped him, sending him to the floor. Kallian felt herself stiffen instinctively.

"I know what you're thinking, but maybe we should stay out of it..." Soris tried to stop her, concerned.

Ignoring her cousin's advice, the girl took large steps to Shianni's side.

"And who is this?" Exclaimed the man. "Have you come to keep me company, sweetheart?" His slimy gaze lingered on her breasts.

Holding back the urge to slap him, Kallian decided to try the diplomatic approach. "This is not a good time to be in the Enclave, gentlemen." She said, trying to be as convincing as possible.

"Ah!" The man took offence. "How dare you! Do you have any idea who I am?!" He asked her angrily, raising his voice and advancing threateningly towards her.

Kallian did not flinch, sustaining his gaze even though she was a little afraid.

"It's very busy here today. And it's full of drunks and cutthroats, hardly the place to spend a pleasant morning." She tried to convince him, struggling to appear truthful.

The human burst out laughing, maliciously. "If you think beggars like that are going to be a problem for me, you have no idea who you're talking to. I'm-"

They could not hear who he was, because Shianni, who had bent down to pick up a glass bottle from the ground, hit him hard on the back of the head, knocking him unconscious on the spot.

"Are you crazy?! This is Vaughan Kendells, the son of the arl of Denerim!" Screamed one of his henchmen, rushing to check the man's condition.

"What?!" Shianni exclaimed, realising the situation. "Oh, by the Maker, what have I done?!"

Kallian suppressed an expletive. "Look, it was an accident." He tried to say, but the two, who had lifted their comrade's unconscious body from the ground, hurled insults and threats at them.

"You'll pay dearly for this, knifeears!" Screamed one of the two, before beating a retreat.

"I really screwed up this time." Groaned Shianni, watching them running away.

"Everything will be fine, he won't dare tell anyone he was knocked out by an elf!" Soris reassured her.

"Don't worry, Shianni. Sori's right." Kallian spoke, but without believing much of it herself. That was the heir of the Arl of Denerim, there was no way he was going to let such insubordination pass, especially from an elf.

A couple of elves walked towards them, confused.

"What happened?" She asked in a high-pitched voice. She was dressed elegantly, a brightly coloured dress and her hair neatly combed and braided.

Soris let out a nervous laugh. "Nothing, just the Arl's son who started drinking too early..." He hastened to change the subject. "Cousin, meet Valora, my future wife."

Kallian greeted her with a nod, for attention was all for the male elf, a good-looking young man with blond hair and a prominent chin.

"You must be Nelaros. Pleased to meet you." She introduced herself awkwardly. "I'm Kallian."

"Of course, I recognized you right away." He greeted her. He seemed much more confident than she was.

"I'm sure you'll have plenty to talk about..." Soris interjected, waving goodbye and leaving in a hurry, Valora in tow.

Kallian was left alone with her future husband. He had strong arms, no doubt from his work at the forge.

"Are you nervous?" He asked her, trying to break the awkwardness that had set in.

She nodded, "A little. It's weird getting married to someone you've never seen before, isn't it?"

The other smiled in turn. "I get it. I thought I would stay calm, but when I finally saw you..." He shook his head.

"How was the journey from Highever?" She asked him, as they waited for the Chantry Sister to arrive and for the others to complete their preparations for the ceremony.

"Uneventful, luckily. The caravan we were travelling with was so poor that it kept the brigands away."

They signaled for them to approach. Mother Boann, the only Sister to set foot in the Enclave, had finally arrived.

The two couples hurried into position, side by side. Kallian almost gasped when Nelaros touched her hand. "By the way, you look wonderful." He whispered to her.

She smiled at him, embarrassed, unsure of what to say. Of course, getting married wasn't her dream, but in a place like that you couldn't be too picky, or pursue unattainable wishes. Besides, he seemed like a nice guy. He was also quite handsome, which helped a lot. She hoped they would be happy. He'd get a job under one of the many blacksmiths in town, she'd continue working at the market, they'd be well enough off to rent a house with a a bedroom, and a living room where they'd invite Soris and Valora over for dinner...

Yes, such a life didn't seem so bad to her.

Valendrian recited the words, recalling Andraste's sacrifice and celebrating the bonds that united the elves of the Enclave, which were their strength.

Mother Boann then took the floor. "In the name of the Maker, who brought us into this world, and for whom we sing the Chant of Light-"

An uproar from the back of the crowd interrupted her.

Vaughan, the Arl's son, was striding towards them, his face contorted with rage. He was followed by his two henchmen and four city guards in armour, equipped with swords and shields.

"Milord?" Surprised the Sister exclaimed. "What an unexpected surprise!"

"Sorry to interrupt, Mother, but I'm planning a party and we're short on female guests!" Announced the man, bursting into laughter. He climbed up onto the platform without hesitation, approaching Valora and looking at her malevolently.

Mother Boann tried to intervene, pointing out that it was a wedding.

Vaughan pushed Valora aside, dropping her to the floor with a mocking laugh toward the Chantry sister. "If you want to dress up your pets, that's your business. But let's not pretend it's a real wedding." He mocked them. “Now, we came here to have fun, didn't we boys?" He asked his guards, who responded enthusiastically.

The three richly dressed men stared at the women around them, evaluating them like cattle.

"We'll take these two, the one in the tight dress and..." Vaughan said, searching the crowd. "Where's that bitch who hit me earlier?"

"Here, Lord Vaughan!" Screamed one of the other two, dragging Shianni by the arm.

"Get off me, you son of a bitch!" Shouted the elf, only to be silenced with a powerful backhand.

Vaughan seemed to find it all extremely funny. "Oh, this is going to be a blast." He then turned to Kallian, who had remained silent and horrified, blood boiling in her veins, not wanting to risk endangering anyone. She was, moreover, unarmed, and that dress, though she had made it fit her very well, was hardly suitable for a fight.

"Just look at the beautiful bride!" He exclaimed. "They rarely come in that colour!"

Kallian had to bite her lip, clutching Neralos' hand, which had gripped her protectively.

"Don't worry, I won't let them get you." He told her in a trembling voice, without letting her go of her hang despite his fear.

They could not escape, and even if they had managed to lose them, they had already taken Shianni. Resisting would only bring more trouble.

"Ah, yes, that's good." Vaughan commented, running the back of his hand over her neck and grabbing her arm hard, hurting her.

Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing her complain, Kallian resisted, trying to yank herself free. He didn't even seem to notice, a grin of amusement on his face. "I'm sure we all want to avoid further... complications." He said in a threatening tone, his eyes narrowed.

"Let me go!" Snarled Kallian trying again to break free of his grip, only to raise a mocking laugh.

"Oh, what a temper!" He squeezed her even tighter, causing her to let out a grunt of pain. "This is going to be fun!" Than he slapped her, hard.

Her vision suddenly went dark.

"Maker, protect us. Maker, help us. Maker, protect us. Maker, help us. Maker, protect us. Maker, help us..."

"Cut it out!" Shianni's voice rose. "You're driving me crazy!"

Kallian opened her eyes, pulling herself up. She felt a little dizzy. She met her friend's worried gaze. "By the Maker, you've finally woken up. We were getting worried..." Shianni told her. Kallian looked around: they were in a small room made of nice stone and wooden boards, a sign that they had been taken to one of the palaces of the nobles of Denerim. Given the fact that their captor was the Arl's son, they were probably in one of the most heavily guarded places in the entire city. Getting out of there seemed impossible.

"Are you allright?" Kalian asked, trying not to let the fear show in her voice.

The others nodded, while the young elf nearby, Nola, kept praying to the Maker, chanting the same words over and over again.

"We have to find a way out of here." Kallian affirmed.

"No, we'd never make it!" Retorted one of the others with a terrified expression. "We'll do... we'll give them what they want, then when we go home, we'll forget all about it."

Valora agreed, trying to escape was too risky. "It will be worse if we resist." She said bitterly.

"It's much worse not to!" Shianni became angry, determined. She was about to add something, but the praying elf was suddenly interrupted with a groan of terror.

"Someone's coming!" Nola squeaked fearfully.

The door swung open, revealing five guards in full armour. What must have been the captain allowed himself a grin at the sight of the five women recoiling in fear. "Hello girls, we are here to escort you to Lord Vaughan's little party." He announced.

Nola stood up abruptly, trying to get away from the men. "Stay away!"

Before Kallian could realise it, the girl fell to the ground in a pool of blood. Crimson splatter stained her face and soaked into her white dress. She stood there, petrified, watching the captain admire his handiwork with his unsheathed sword dripping blood.

One of the girls let out a gasp. "You killed her!"

"This is what happens when you try to teach whores some respect..." Said the captain, not at all impressed. He then turned to his men. "You two, take the little flower hiding back there. Horace and I will take care of the cute bride and the drunkard." He ordered. They promptly complied. "You," he turned to the last two "take the last one standing, but beware, she's a fighter." He pointed at Kallian with a nod, before turning on his heel and walking away.

"Oh, don't worry." Said one of the two, pretending to reassure her. "We'll be perfect gentlemen."

The other didn't even try. "Be good, or you'll end up like your friend there." He threatened, referring to the girl on the ground.

Kallian felt himself trembling with fear. "Don't hurt me." She stammered, raising her hands in surrender. The weaker she showed to be, she thought, the less they would feel the need to use force.

The two men grinned, one of them went to grab her arm, pulling her towards the exit, while the other slipped a hand behind her back, groping her bottom and making her jerk away with a cry. She instinctively tried to free herself, which resulted in a more violent tug that hurt her shoulder. They escorted her out, into a room that must have been four times the size of her house. They went then through a corridor and past other various rooms. All the way, the guard who had groped her continued to tease her, amused by the girl's attempts to rebel.

After what seemed an interminable time, they reached the rest of the guards. There was no trace of the other girls.

"Lord Vaughan said to bring her in." Said the captain, nodding towards the heavy door in front of them. "He's got a surprise for her."

Kallian could barely contain her terror, feeling her legs go limp and ready to give way. They dragged her in, throwing her to the floor and shutting the door behind them, snickering.

"Kallian!"

The girl looked up. Soris was held on his knees with his arms tied behind his back, Nelaros, next to him, was in the same situation.

"Now that's a party!" Vaughan exclaimed, clapping his hands and looking at her with malevolence. "We found these two sneaking into the kitchen, armed only with a knife." He was holding his own sword, which he rested menacingly on Soris' cheek, the tip cutting into the soft skin, letting a drop of blood flow. "Any suggestions, boys?" He then asked his two companions, who chuckled in satisfaction.

"Knife-ears are like rats." Commented one of them kicking Nelaros, who fell over.

Kallian remained petrified, still on the ground, unable to move. She heard the other girls sobbing.

Vaughan looked around, assessing the situation. After a few moments, he seemed to decide what to do, chuckling to himself.

"I'm feeling particularly magnanimous today. If they wanted to take part in our little party, I don't see why we should deprive them of this pleasure!" He announced, nodding to his two companions. "Gag them." He ordered. They hastened to comply. Vaughan, without even looking at them, bent down and grabbed Kallian by the arm, pulling her to her feet with a yank. "But look," he said, lasciviously stroking the girl's neck then reaching down and grabbing one of her breasts from under her dress, making her squeak in pain, "our guest got dirty." He ran his thumb over a patch of fresh blood, then he brought his hand up to her face and pressed his finger to her lips, leaving a reddish mark. "We can't have that!"

He grabbed both sides of the neckline of the dress, then violently tore them off. The fabric tore to pieces, the colored stones rolling on the floor.

Kallian begged him to stop, trying to cover her bare breasts with her arms. The other grabbed her wrists, forcing her arms to the sides of her body. "Don't play coy, bunny, we're gonna have fun." He brought his face closer to hers, kissing her forcefully. She reacted by tugging away, headbutting him on the chin.

Vaughan recoiled with a cry of pain, slapping her with the back of his hand and causing her to stagger. One of the rings he wore gave her a cut on the bottom lip, which started to bleed. "You bloody whore!" Snarled the lord. "Tie her up with the others, we'll deal with her friends first." He ordered picking up Shianni, who tried to crawl away from him. Her face was red and bruised, a sign that she had resisted.

"Damn" Vaughan hissed, grabbing her by the hair and making her scream in pain, "bitches!"

The other two humans approached Kallian, with ropes ready in hand.

Before they could reach her, the girl threw herself at one of them, knocking him to the ground. Taken by surprise, the man did not have time to react, allowing her to grab the knife he was carrying on his belt. Before she could do anything with it, though, the other man kicked her in the side, knocking the wind out of her. Kallian did not lose heart, gripping the handle of the weapon and driving it hard into the hand of the man who was still on the ground.

The other hit her again, but this time she managed to cushion the blow by parrying it with her shoulder. She jumped up again, facing him, the knife raised in the air and ready to attack.

A terrified cry startled her. She turned, petrified.

"Drop it, or I'll slit her throat like a pig!" Vaughan ordered, clutching Shianni to him, the blade of his sword pressed sharply against her throat, trapping her between it and the man. The girl was breathing hard, crying and sobbing.

"Help me..." Shianni begged.

She heard the muffled moans of the two bound elves, who struggled to free themselves without success.

Kallian's moment of hesitation cost her dearly. The man behind her struck her in the shoulder blades, grabbing her arm that held the dagger and twisting it behind her back, forcing her to drop it. He pinned her other one as well, hurting her until she begged him to stop.

"You will pay dearly for this." Vaughan spat, throwing Shianni to the ground and holding her down with one foot pressed to her back.

Kallian ended up bound and gagged beside Soris and Nelaros, forced to watch Vaughan and his men have their way on her friends.

The first to be stripped was Shianni. They hit her violently until she stopped struggling, trying to curl up on the ground in tears, her broken nose dripping blood that dampened her hair.

The injured man tied a piece of cloth around his hand, taking a hearty sip of wine from a bottle on the table. Refreshed, he ignored the pain and joined his accomplices, pinning the elf's arms to the floor as Vaughan moved over her forcefully.

When the lord had finished, they left her on the floor, turning their attention to the other two. The man who had disarmed Kallian pulled the girl who had said to be compliant, yanking her up. She groaned in fear, but offered no resistance as they lifted her skirt, throwing her onto the bed and pressing her head against the mattress.

Soris struggled against the ropes pinning his ankles and wrists, growling from under the gag and writhing in an attempt to free himself.

The man with the injured hand seemed to find this amusing, as he approached him with a wicked grin, grabbing his chin and forcing him to look him in the eye. "Oh, are you worried about your little wife?" He asked, kneeling in front of him and getting so close that their noses brushed. "Braden can be a little rough, but when I get your girl, I'll have her screaming for more." He taunted him, pressing a foot into the elf's groin. "And who knows, maybe once we're done with them, we can find a use for you two as well." He rubbed his heel against the fabric of Soris' pants, making him wince. "You knife-ears are all the same anyway, except for what you have down here. But that can always be corrected." He threatened. He shifted pressed hard between the elf's legs, and Soris cried out in pain.

A muffled scream signaled that Vaughan had begun having his way Valora. He handled her like a rag doll, tossing her onto the large bed beside her companion. "Jonaley, this one is ready for you already!" He called to his companion, who turned away from Soris with a grin, fumbling with the waistband of his pants.

Kallian meanwhile was desperately trying to cut the ropes at her wrists, scraping them against the edge of the rock she was leaning against. Her skin was tearing in several places, making her hands slippery with blood. Nelaros, beside her, tried to get her attention with a stifled grunt, pointing with a nod to the small wooden feet on which the bookcase rested. They crept silently toward it, rubbing the strings against the edge. The girl worked feverishly, trying unsuccessfully to ignore the moans and cries coming from the bed. Finally, after an interminable time, she felt the ropes give way.

She freed her hands, full of grazes, and began to untie the rope that was blocking her ankles.

After some time Nelaros managed to free himself as well.

When Vaughan moved away from Valora, leaving room for his accomplices, he turned to check on the prisoners.

Nelaros tried to hit him in the head with the bottle of wine left on the table, but he missed the target, hitting him in the back. The man, turning around, fell to the ground with a groan, cursing him and grabbing the hilt of his sword. The elf recoiled making way for Kallian, who threw herself at Vaughan with all her weight, crushing him to the ground and preventing him from drawing his weapon, the knife she had dropped earlier aimed at the man's throat.

"Back away or I'll kill him!" She screamed, the blade pressed into the lord's pale skin. The man, who had probably never had such a threat in his life, looked at her in astonishment.

Nelaros had meanwhile run to block the door, to prevent the guards from breaking in.

The other two humans turned to look at her, unsure of what to do.

"I said move away!" Kallian hissed again, reinforcing the concept by pressing the knife to lightly cut into the skin until a single drop of blood spilled.

"Do as he tells you!" Vaughan huffed, clearly panicking. The two immediately obeyed, raising their hands and moving a few steps away from the bed.

"What are you going to do, huh?" The lord then asked her, trying to mask his fear. "There are at least a dozen guards in here, and you only have one knife."

He was right, albeit partially. Kallian bent down to unsheathe his sword from the scabbard the man held at the belt. "I also have this." She pointed out.

"We can resolve this peacefully." He tried to convince her. "I'll let your friends go, and those two as well. You have my word."

Kallian didn't know what to do. She was certain the man was lying to save his own life, and the moment she'd remove the blade from his throat, he would order his men to break down the door and it would all have been for nothing.

On the other hand, killing the son of the arl of Denerim would have meant a catastrophe not so much for them as for the entire Enclave. She couldn't let them exterminate everyone in the neighborhood just to avenge him.

She swallowed dryly, there was only one solution that came to her mind, and she didn't like it at all.

"On your feet." She ordered the man, still keeping the blade in contact with his skin as she pulled away from him, allowing him to stand up. The man looked at her, bewildered.

"Now you'll open that door, and order the guards to take all of them back to the Enclave. Immediately." She pointed her sword at his back, pushing him towards the door but staying hidden behind the wall so they couldn't see her once it was open. "Know that no matter how many guards are outside, you'll be dead before they can take a step." She warned him, pressing the tip of the weapon between his shoulder blades to emphasize the point.

Nelaros meanwhile had freed Soris, who had ran to Valora. Shianni had struggled back to her feet. The girls struggled to get dressed, holding together the strips of cloth that had been torn. They walked battered toward the door.

"Now open it, and do as I say." Kallian ordered Vaughan.

"Kallian, wait." Nelaros froze. "What about you?"

Soris had also turned to look at her with wide eyes. “You'll come with us too, right cousin?”

She remained silent, looking at him with determination.

"No, I can't. I'll stay." Kallian shook her head. "If I go too, nothing will stop them from calling more guards to hunt us down.” Then, she prodded Vaughan with his sword. "Hurry, open the door."

The man obeyed, trembling with rage.

The door swung open, revealing only two guards who turned in surprise, jumping to attention.

"We're done with them." Announced the lord. "Take them back to the Enclave." Kallian pushed the blade even further against his back. "Immediately, I said. No detours. They're not to be touched."

The guards nodded, confused, yet they seemed to obey the man's orders.

Watching the elves parade past her, Kallian felt a lump in her throat. If only she had acted sooner... She met the gaze of Shianni, who bowed her head. There was no need to add anything else.

After a few minutes have passed, Vaughan turned to her. "So?" He asked annoyed. He had finally realized he was no longer in danger.

Kallian inhaled deeply, taking two steps back and dropping his sword to the ground, surrendering. “It was my idea. Punish me, not them.”

Vaughan turned to face her, a wide grin that promised vengeance across his face. “Dont' worry, that's exactly what I'm gonna do...”

Two weeks later, a large and bulky bag was dumped in the mud in front of the Enclave's gates.

Alarith, who was waiting around there for a crate of clandestine goods in the dark, ran to investigate. From the bag rolled out the seemingly lifeless body of a dark-skinned girl, completely naked and dirty with blood and other struff. The elf ran to get help, and along with a couple of others managed to get her to the Hahren.

Valendrian laid the girl down on a table, checking to see if she was still alive. She was barely breathing, the pulse on her wrist weak and irregular.

He began by washing and disinfecting her many wounds: she had cuts of different shapes and sizes all over her body, a large scar on her chest and what looked like a deep hole made with a very sharp object, on the side of her head shone three parallel cuts with frayed edges. The nose was broken and encrusted with blood, the lip was split, leaving a glimpse of the gum and teeth underneath. On her back she had numerous other cuts, thin and deep. Around her neck, ankles and wrists there were deep abrasions and rub marks. Her ankle was bent unnaturally, her knees were skinned and her legs were full of cuts. More recent bruises and contusions covered her almost entirely. A series of oddly shaped and almost white scars ran all over her body, as if she were covered in tangled brambles or had been struck by thunder. Her hair, formerly a very dark color, was now reduced to milk-white strands.

"Shall I call Ceylon?" Alarith asked Valendrian as the elf worked on the wounds.

"Let's wait and see if he survives the night." Decided the Hahren. "No father should have to see his daughter like this..."


	4. Highever

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elissa Cousland won't be allowed to fight alongside her brother and father at Ostagar. Feeling left out and treated like a child, she has no idea what's to come shortly.  
> Also, her mabari is a very good boi and so brave.

The castle of Highever was buzzing with activity: preparations for the soldiers' departure were almost complete, the last supplies were being loaded onto wagons, horses were being groomed and saddled, men were checking equipment, sharpening blades and replacing bowstrings, polishing armor and, most importantly, saying goodbye to the family they would be leaving behind.  
Elissa watched them with envy as she walked briskly to the castle hall. Her older brother, Fergus, would be leaving that very evening along with her father, while she would stay home to look after the castle. It was unfair.

"Pup, I didn't see you there." Teyrn Bryce Cousland, her father, greeted her. "Howe, do you remember my daughter?" He asked the man next to him.

Arl Howe, a man with an elongated face and hooked nose, dressed in fine clothing, greeted her with a nod. "I see you've grown into a lovely young lady. Pleasure to see you again, my dear."

"The pleasure is mine, Arl Howe." Elissa replied courteously, though she didn't particularly like the man. He had a somewhat slimy manner, as if he thought one thing and always said the other. However, he was an old friend and comrade in arms of Teyrn Cousland and had never shown disloyalty to the Crown or to Highever. "My son Thomas has been asking for you." Howe said. "Perhaps I should bring him with me next time..." He left the sentence hanging. The girl replied with a smile. Howe's third son was seven years younger than she was, barely able to consider himself a squire. She was twenty-one, and the young boy had developed a certain adoration for her, which the Arl obviously wanted to exploit in view of a possible marriage that would unite the two houses. _As if_. "He can't wait to face you in a duel again." The Arle continued, a hint of disdain in her voice: it was clear that she did not approve of the training the Couslands had given her daughter.

"I would like that." She promptly replied.

"Anyway, my daughter, I had you summoned for a reason." Her father told her, taking her hand between his own and looking earnestly into her eyes. "While your brother and I are away, I entrust you with Highever." She was about to retort, but he stopped her before she could open her mouth and complain again. "I know you'd like to come too, and I'm not leaving you at home because I want to protect you, rather the opposite. We'll be taking the bulk of our army with us, leaving Highever largely unguarded and vulnerable: it's your job to defend the castle and our family, in case any of our enemies decide to take advantage of it to attack us or... or should the battle end up in a defeat."

"Father..." Elissa knew it was the wisest move, yet she felt abandoned. While her brother and father would risk their lives fighting a glorious battle to save the Ferelden once again, as the Couslan had done during King Maric's rebellion, she would be left on the sidelines, at home, tending to family and a half-empty castle. "I understand why you want me to stay home. And I will do my best." She assured him.

Her father allowed himself a smile, looking at her fondly. "That's what I wanted to hear. Now go, tell your brother to lead the troops to Ostagar without me and that I will join him tomorrow along with Arl Howe's men."

Elissa nodded, giving a small reverence and disappearing in search of her brother.

Before she could climb the stone ramp that led to the Cousland rooms on the top floor of the castle, she was stopped by one of her father's men, Ser Gilmore. The man was good-looking, his red hair worn long falling over his massive shoulders, accentuated by the metal armor he wore.

"There you are, my lady! Your mother had told me that the teryn had sent for you, so I didn't want to interrupt."

"Greetings to you as well, Ser Gilmore." Elissa said, surprised to find the knight still out and about and not overseeing preparations for his impending departure.

"Ah! Forgive my rudeness, my lady. It is only that I have been looking for you everywhere." He apologized.

"No need, Ser. I believe that having seen me soiled and exhausted after training in the courtyard, and having exchanged more than a few blows, makes the formalities superfluous." She reassured him. "So, what's the rush?"

"I'm afraid your mabari is wreaking havoc in the kitchen again." The other replied. "Nan is threatening to leave."

She let out a little laugh. "Nan's been threatening to leave since she was my nanny, and she's still here. Anyway, we'd better go get Cookie." She signaled for the knight to follow her as she made her way to the kitchens.  
They heard the old cook's angry shouts way before they turned down the hall.

"When Nan is displeased, she makes sure the entire castles knows about it...” Ser Gilmore chuckled.

"I still remember her tantrums when I'd come back all muddy in time for dinner." Elissa shook her head, thinking back to how many times the poor woman had had to clean her up from head to toe in a hurry and just in time for dining with the family, after she had spent the day in swords and fights.

"You were a terrible child, according to her." Ser Gilmore confirmed, realizing soon after that he had spoken out loud and apologizing immediately.

She let it go with a wave of her hand. "Oh, please. You're probably right."

They reached the kitchen, where a very angry Nan was ranting at two poor servants.

"Get that damn flea dog out of the pantry!"

The two elves exchanged terrified glances. "But ma'am, he won't let us near him!"

The old woman seemed, if possible, to get even angrier. "If I can't get access to that pantry, I swear I'll skin you both, you useless elves!"

Ser Gilmore rushed in to the aid of the two. "Calm down, good woman, we are here to help you."

She turned around angrily, glaring at the newcomers with an angry frown. "You! Your cursed mongrel keeps sneaking into my pantry! That beast should be put down!" She snickered, pointing a gnarled index finger at Elissa's chest.

She sighed, used to the woman's temper. "I'm sorry Nan, you know Cookie can't keep away..."

The old woman seemed to calm down a little. "Make him go away! I have enough trouble dealing with a castle full of hungry soldiers!"

Elissa shrugged, opening the pantry door.

Cookie, a large Mabari with shaggy honey-colored fur, turned to her, barking a couple of times.

"You're bothering Nan again, you glutton." She rebuked him, crossing her arms over her chest.

The dog yowled loudly, then pointed something to her right and barked again, ears back and the little tail held upright, in an attack position.

Elissa was very surprised. "What, found something?"

The mabari turned to her briefly, then returned to pointing at some bags at the bottom of the pantry.

"There seems to be something..." Ser Gilmore said, drawing his sword.

She did the same. "Come on Cookie, get it!" She ordered the hound, who sprang forward with a leap, knocking the bags to the ground. A high-pitched whine signaled that he had bitten into something with his powerful jaws.

Half a dozen large rats ran off their hiding place, running in the direction of the two newcomers, who hurried to eliminate them.

Ser Gilmore turned one over with a foot, watching it closely. "These rats are from the Wilds. It's best not to tell Nan, she's angry enough as it is."

"Yeah, with Cookie." Elissa retorted. "At least then she'll know he was just doing his job as a watchdog. Right, buddy?" She bent down to pet the dog behind the ears, making him wag his tail happily.

Nan was not pleased to hear about the giant rats that had invaded her pantry, but at least she seemed to make temporary peace with the mabari, to whom she offered a cookie.

The dog, carrying honor to its name, swallowed it hole and then licked the old woman's hand affectionately, causing her to rail again.

They ran out of the kitchen before she could find anything else to accuse them of. In the doorway, they found the two elves the old woman had been grooming when they arrived.

"She's calmed down a bit. I'm sorry you have to put up with her every day..." Elissa told them.

The two of them looked at her in alarm, shaking their heads and bowing deeply, mouthing an agitated apology and thanking her for her concern, then fleeing back to the kitchens.

"Well, my lady, now that you have the mabari under control, I can go prepare for the arrival of the Arl's men." Ser Gilmore announced.

"Wait." Elissa stopped him. "You're leaving tomorrow with my father, aren't you?"

The other nodded. "Yes, the teyrn has requested me in his personal escort."

She caught her breath. "Keep an eye on my father, Ser. He can be reckless, and not-"

"I will, my lady." The man interrupted her, bringing his clenched fist up to heart level. "I will protect the teyrn with my own life, I promise you he will return safely."

"Thank you, Ser Gilmore. I know you are a man of your word, and your loyalty to my father is steadfast." Elissa shrugged her shoulders. "I only wish I could go with you."

"I know, my lady. And I am sure your strategic and military knowledge will be of great help in the future, yet the teyrn has given you a task as important as leading men into battle: it is not easy to rule, and he trusts you completely."

The girl knew this to be true: she had been trained to the best of her ability, she knew which noble houses were to be trusted and which ones to beware of, she studied the laws and the needs of the people of Highever and, if need be, she trusted that she could handle an attack on the castle. However, not being able to accompany her brother and father to Ostagar made her feel as if they were protecting her like she was really just a pup.

She said her goodbyes Ser Gilmore, wishing him a safe journey and good luck.

Walking up the ramp that led upstairs she passed her mother, Teyrna Eleanor Cousland. She was still a very beautiful woman for her age: a few wrinkles furrowed her austere face and her gray hair, once blonde like her daughter's, was tied in two chignons at the base of her nape.

"Ah, there is my beautiful daughter!" She greeted her. "From the presence of your troublesome mabari, I assume the situation in the kitchen has been resolved."

Cookie whined in response, trying to coax them with his most innocent face. The Teyrna gave no sign of relenting, staring disapprovingly at him.

Her guests, Lady Landra her son Dairren, and an elf who was to be the lady-in-waiting, cast amused glances at the mabari.

"Yes mother, Nan has already returned to work." Elissa replied. "Cookie was just a little hungry." She figured it was best not to talk about giant rats in front of their guests, especially when the evening's dinner would be prepared in that same kitchen.

"Hopefully he left something behind to feed our guests.... Darling, do you remember Lady Landra, Bann Loren's wife?"

"Of course, we met at the spring festival..." Elissa greeted her politely. The woman was completely drunk on that occasion, but that too was best to be overlooked. "It is a pleasure to see you again. I hope all is well at Caer Oswin."

"Oh, dear, you are too kind. If I remember correctly, I spent half the party trying to convince you to marry my son..." Lady Lndra chuckled, mentioning the young man beside her.

"And with very poor arguments, might I add." That one interjected, giving Elissa a wide smile. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my lady. You look more beautiful than ever."

"Dairren, welcome." The girl returned the smile. He was a pleasant and good looking man, about the same age as her, and their mothers were longtime friends.

"He also hasn't married yet!" Lady Landra added.

The young man, embarrassed, shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "Don't listen to my mother..."

"Maybe we can meet later in the library and talk a little?" Elissa asked him, already knowing he would agree.

"But of course. I'd be very happy to." He immediately assured her.

"Oh, wonderful!" Lady Landra commented radiantly. "Oh, this is my lady-in-waiting, Iona." He added, pointing to the elf behind them, a bit off to the side. "Say something, dear..."

The one, a very pretty blonde young woman, made a reverence towards Elissa. "It is a real pleasure, my lady. You are indeed as beautiful as your mother describes you."

"And she says this after watching you beat up padded men in the yard, sweating like a mule..." Eleanor interjected.

Elissa restrained herself from snorting. Her mother back in her days was said to have been able to take out a man before he knew there was a woman under the helmet, but she had never seen her fight. Teyrna Eleanor Cousland was a Lady through and through, and after the birth of her children she had hung up her bow, devoting herself to her family and public relations with the other Lords of Ferelden, as well as the administration of the castle of Highever.

"Your daughter's mastery with the blade is most impressive." Dairren concurred.

"In my day, I was quite a warrior myself." Admitted the teyrna. "But I believe it was the more delicate arts that allowed me to find a husband."

Elissa shrugged. "I believe the man I'll marry must be able to appreciate both my delicate arts and my skills with a sword and shield, mother." She shot a glance at Dairren, who nodded awkwardly in approval.

Eleanor Cousland blatantly rolled her eyes.

"Now excuse me, but I should go find my brother." Elissa said goodbye. "Dairren, see you later."

She gave a slight bow to the guests, then continued down the hallway.

She knocked on the door to her brother's room. "Fergus?"

Oriana, her brother's wife, came to open it. Her eyes were puffy and red, a sign that she had been crying. Elissa placed a hand on her forearm, knowing full well that any words of comfort would be useless against the anxiety the woman felt at seeing her husband go off to war. Little Oren didn't share the same fears and was excitedly prancing around the room.

"Elissa!" Fergus exclaimed, turning to look at her. He was wearing his armor, sword and shield strapped on the shoulders. "Did you come to say goodbye too?"

"I couldn't let you leave without it, could I?" She retorted. "And our father told me to look for you." "You''ll bring me a sword, won't you?" Oren asked his father, pulling him by the arm to get his attention.

Fergus knelt in front of the child, stroking his cheek. "Of course. The biggest one I can find. And I'll be right back, I promise."

"I wish victory was as certain as you make it sound..." Said his wife.

"Oh, don't frighten the child, my love. It is." He tried to reassure her, patting the Oren's head.

Fergus seemed confident, but Elissa knew he was good at hiding his true emotions. He certainly didn's want to worry his family, but the fight ahead of them would be dangerous, and no one was certain of the outcome. "No Darkspawn shall touch my brother!" She confirmed, patting him on the shoulder and making the steel ring. "I'll miss you, you know."

The other opened up in a jovial smile. "I wish you could come, too. It's going to be tiring killing all those Darkspawn by myself.... But someone has to do it."

His sister shook her head. "I wish I could have had your back."

"In Antiva, a woman on the battlefield would be seen as...unusual." Oriana commented, though she was now used to the idea that Elissa was as skilled in combat as Fergus.

"But if I've always heard that Antiva women are quite dangerous!" Her husband retorted, winking.

"Only with kindness and venom, dear husband..."

He burst out laughing. "This from the woman I have tea with every day!"

"Our father says there will be Grey Wardens there too, fighting with the king." Said Elissa. "And all the lords have been called to arms, the whole of Ferelden."

"Gray Wardens?!" Exclaimed the child, excited. "With griffins?"

"Oren, they only exist in stories now." His mother patiently explained.

"Yes, I know. An army this united hasn't been seen since.... Well, since the Orlesian invasion!" Fergus commented. "Which bodes well. The Darkspawn won't stand a chance."

"King Cailan's strategist is still Teyrn Loghain. He should be planning the war." Elissa had a sort of adoration for the man, having read all the material that could be found on the liberation war led by King Maric, father of the current ruler, and his trusted friend Loghain, now teyrn and father of the Queen. Tales of how Loghain's experience and insight, along with his quick wit and courage, had often turned the battles in favor of the rebels were her favorites. "I wish I could have met him..." Elissa complained.

"I'll make sure to convince our father to take you to the palace once the war is won, sis." Fergus assured her. "Then you can annoy him with all yout questions and get yourself kicked out as a disturber of the peace." He grinned.

Elissa didn't even pretend to be offended. Meeting her childhood hero was one of her dreams. And maybe, if she was lucky enough and the teyrn was in a particularly good mood (not that he was known for it, admittedly, he was described to be a little grumpy), she would even get to spar with him.  
Envy returned to gnaw at her liver. If she had fought alongside her brother and father, she would have had some chance of being noticed by the Teyrn.  
"Regarding our father." She said. "The men from Amaranthine are late, he said to leave without him and he'll follow you tomorrow along with Lord Howe."

"Ah! They may be walking backwards, given how much time it's taking!" Fergus laughed, a slight contempt in his voice. He didn't particularly like Howe either. "I'd better get going, then. Lots of Darkspawn to behead and time is running out!"

He leaned over to hug his son one last time, then gave his wife a kiss. "I'll be back soon, my love."

The teryn and teyrna also made their entrance. "I hope, my dear, that you wanted to wait for us before sneaking out?" Bryce Cousland asked, smiling.

"May the Maker protect you, my son. I will pray for your return every day." His mother added, hugging him tightly.

"Fergus won't have any problems, Mother." Elissa tried to reassure her.

"As I keep telling you, I won't get a scratch!"

"May the Maker protect us all. May he preserve our children, our husbands and fathers, and bring them back to us safely." Recited Oriana.

"And bring us some beer and wenches while we're at it!" Fergus added. "...For the men, of course." He rushed to add, after his mother and wife stared at him disapprovingly.

Elissa burst out laughing.

"What's a wences?" Oren asked in his innocence.

"They serve very good beer." Bryce Cousland promptly replied.

"Fergus!" Eleanor scolded him. "It's like living with two children. Fortunately, I have a daughter."

Elissa continued to laugh. "Which, you keep saying, is not so much better."

The teyrna shook her head, defeated.

"I'll miss you, mother. You'll keep an eye on her, won't you sis?" Fergus told her, holding Elissa close.

She elbowed him playfully. "I think she can take care of herself, big brother."

"Well, Fergus, I'd say it's time to get going, otherwise you'll never get out that door, your mother and wife will end up chaining you here." Commented the teryn. "I'll see you in a few days." The two men shook hands.

"I'll be off then. See you soon, family!" Fergus announced, before giving his son's hair one last caress and walking out the door. Elissa watched him walk away with a lump in her throat.

"Don't worry about him, pup." Her father reassured her. "Fergus's good."

She hunched her shoulders, uneasy. "I know, Father." She exchanged a worried look with her mother, quietly. Watching them both leave, and not being able to go with them, was frustrating for both of them.

"I'm leaving in a few days, too, dear." The teyrna informed her. "Lady Landra has invited me to her castle, and I think not having me around will only do your authority good."

"Mother!" Elissa exclaimed. "But there was no need. In fact, I should be very glad if you would stay, you know. There won't be much to do, after all, and you needn't leave just to make me feel more important."

"I know dear, but your father and I both feel the same way. Think of it as a test, it will be the first time you will be the one and only person in charge of Highever."

Elissa sighed. "I understand, mother. This castle will seem pretty empty without all of you."

"Oh, pup, we'll be back soon." Said the teyrn.

Oren pulled her by the arm. "So you'll be the one to look after me and mom, auntie?"

"That's right, little one. It'll be fun!" She replied, trying to sound convincing. It was going to be hard to distract the child from the absence of his father and grandparents.

"What if the castle is attacked? Will there be dragons?" The one asked her. He seemed tremendously excited at the mere idea of seeing a giant, flying, fire-breathing scale-covered blood-thirsty creature. _Children.._. She secretly wished she could have seen one too, but from far away and possibly not crossing her path.

"Dragons are evil creatures, Oren. They eat people!" His mother scolded him, to no avail.

"Indeed! I want to see a dragon!" He continued undaunted.

"That's because you and Fergus keep telling him stories..." Oriana mumbled, looking sideways at Elissa. She shrugged.

Oren called for her attention again. "Will you teach me how to use a sword, auntie? Then I can fight the bad monsters too!"

The girl smiled at him. "Sure. Why not start tomorrow?" She humored him. "In a couple of years, you'll be so good that we'll be hunting dragons!"

The child squealed happily, hugging her tightly. "You're the best aunt in the world!"

She let him, ignoring the wrinkled looks from her mother and Oriana. After all, there was nothing wrong with training Oren in the use of weapons, it was about time too. She and Fergus had started around his age, if not before.

"Darling, shouldn't you have a date with someone in the library?" The Teyrna reminded her.

"Oh?" Bryce Cousland interjected, interested. "It wouldn't be with young Dairren, would it?"

Elissa blushed. "We're just...just exchanging a few words, Father. Nothing much."

"Of course, of course. I remember when your mother and I first met..."

Before the teyrn could dredge up the past Elissa slipped away, Cookie merrily trotting after her.

The young man was sitting at one of the wooden tables in the library, immersed in reading a heavy historical tome, with embroidery on the cover showing it came from Tevinter.

"Dairren?" She called to him. He lifted his gaze, surprised.

"You came!"

"Of course." She sat down beside him. "That was one of my grandfather's favorites, you know?" She said, pointing at the book. "This whole library was his private little world."

"It's very well stocked... This book, I think it was banned from Ferelden a few centuries ago!"

Elissa giggled. "Yes, he had it shipped directly from Tevinter. There's a whole section of books on magic, despite no one here ever having magical blood. And the whole wing to our right is about the history of Thedas, both facts and legends. Further along are texts on medicine, herbalism and some dictionaries. We also have a couple of volumes from Par Vollen."

She hoped it didn't sound like she was bragging. She loved that place and had very fond memories of spending time in there with her grandfather.

"It's fascinating!" Dairren said. "It's not every day you see such a vast collection. What's your favorite?" He asked her, closing the tome he was reading and setting it down beside him.

Elissa thought about it for a bit. She had several. "Dragons of Tevinter, perhaps. I've read it three times."

"Excellent choice!" Exclaimed the man, impressed. "Timious' theories on the nature of dragons and their connection to the Darkspawn are extremely interesting!"

"Yes, well, in a few weeks you'll have a chance to ask a Grey Warden for clarifications, won't you?" She told him. "Tomorrow you will ride with my father to Ostagar."

The other nodded. "I will be his second.... No more than a glorified squire, I'll keep his armor clean, saddle his horse and such... it's a great honor, though."

"And you will fight the Darkspawn."

"I hope so. I admit I'm a little anxious about it. But it is necessary to fight. And defeat them."

She gave him an encouraging smile. "I know you will stand out in battle."

"If I may... I'm surprised you're not coming with us, my lady."

Elissa sighed. "Believe me, if it were up to me, I would be at my brother's side on the front lines. However, my presence is required here in Highever. A Cousland must stay." She tried to hide the bitterness that pervaded her. They were all going to leave.

"If you want, I can try to write down everything that happens during the battle. I'm not much of a writer, but I'll do my best." He offered. "And I'll keep you constantly updated."

"I'd appreciate that." She thanked him. "I doubt Fergus or my father will remember to write anything. And they'll come home telling only the most useless things, like the beer the had after their victory."

The young man put a hand on hers, looking into her eyes. "It would be an honor." He realized the audacity, quickly withdrawing. "You know, it's my dream to write about such important historical events. One day, one of my books could end up in a library like this."

She reached out in turn, resting her hand on his and brushing his fingers. "I'm sure it will." She leaned a little further forward, toward him.

"My lady..." Dairren stammered.

Before he could stop her, Elissa put her lips on his in a chaste kiss, just for a moment. She drew back quickly, letting go of his hand.

"I shall look forward to your return." She said, before getting up and leaving quickly, embarassed.

She ran into her room, followed by Cookie.

"I know, maybe I was too bold. And out of place." She said to the dog, who looked at her with smart eyes that seemed to know what was buzzing in her head. "But he's cute, and everyone thinks he might be a good match and he likes books and..." She sighed, laying back on the bed and looking up at the ceiling. "And he might not come back."

Cookie jumped on the bed, licking her hand.

"All of them might not come back." She hugged the mabari, seeking comfort. Cookie whined sadly.

In the hell that broke loose a few hours later, Elissa screamed at the top of her lungs, kneeling in a pool of blood next to the lifeless bodies of her nephew and sister-in-law.

She barely felt her mother dragging her away.

"We have to find your father!" Eleanor screamed for the umpteenth time, her face also streaked with tears. "We will avenge them, my darling, I swear it."

They returned to the hallway, where Elissa cleanly severed the arm of one of Howe's men who tried to bar their way, then stabbed him in the chest. The Teyrna shot down the other assailants with arrows. They ran at breakneck speed toward the hall, where the din of combat was loudest.

"Ser Gilmore!" Shouted the girl, rushing to the man's aid and cutting of a man's head with a powerful side slash.

"You're alive!" He exclaimed, relieved. "The teyrn was terrified, he went after you..." He delivered a top-to-bottom blow to an enemy's shoulder, causing him to collapse to the ground screaming.

"Have you seen my father?" She asked him. A hatchet would have hit her in the side if Cookie hadn't bitten the arm of the man she was fighting with, unbalancing him and giving the animal's jaws access to the man's throat.

When all the enemies were down, they were able to catch their breath.

"Bar the doors! Keep those bastards out!" Ser Gilmore ordered his men, pressing on his wounded side. "Your grace. My lady. If you have a way out, use it. We won't be able to hold them off for long."

"We must find my husband first." Eleanor Cousland said. "Can you tell us where he went?"

The knight shook his head. "The last time I saw him, he was badly wounded. I suggested he not stray, but he was determined to find you.... he went toward the kitchens. I think he wants to use the service exit in the pantry."

"May the Maker watch over you, Ser Gilmore." Said the teyrna, before turning to her daughter. "Let's go."

Elissa looked at the man and the other five guards in the hall. She didn't know what to say, those men were headed to certain death. If only Fergus had waited to leave, they would have had enough men to be able to counter the attack....

"May the Maker watch over us all." Replied the knight, before bowing in a final salute and heading towards the gate to help his men keep it closed.

On the way to the kitchen, they encountered several more enemies, including a knight with a huge war hammer. Dodging one of his powerful blows, which would surely have shattered her even under her heavy armor, Elissa ended up on the ground, giving one of Howe's archers the opportunity to hit her in the thigh. Gritting her teeth in pain, she stuck her sword under the knight's armpit, taking advantage of the space between the plates of his armor to drop him to the ground and finish him off with another blow.

Cookie and his mother took care of the two remaining archers. Finally, they entered the kitchens.

Old Nan's body was lying on the ground, a stab wound along her back.

Unable to hold back her tears, Elissa sobbed past her. Cookie growled, ready to defend her and the teyrna from anyone.

The girl kicked open the pantry door, smashing it open.

"Father!" She screamed in horror, running toward the man on the ground.

Bryce Cousland looked up, misty-eyed, his face breaking into a pained smile. "You're alive" He panted.

"Bryce!" His wife exclaimed, kneeling down beside him. "You're wounded!"

"Howe's men...”

"We need to get you out of here." Said Elissa, trying to open the exit door to the pantry.

"I don't... I don't think I can make it, pup."

The girl punched the door, cursing. "Of course you can make it!"

"My darling child..." Teryn sighed. A spasm of pain made him groan loudly.

"When Howe's men get through the gate, that's the end of it. We have to get out of here." His wife told him, examining his wound.

"Someone needs to get to Fergus. Tell him what happened." The man wheezed.

"And get revenge." Hissed Elissa. "Howe won't get away with this."

"Revenge, yes..." The teyrn's voice grew fainter and fainter.

The teyrna called out to him again. "Bryce, the exit is next door. We'll find you a healer and-"

The husband shook his head, in pain. "The castle is surrounded. I won't make it."

"Father..."

Before he could say more, they heard movement coming from the hallway, at least half a dozen men. Cookie pulled his ears back, showing fangs and growling.

"Go." Bryce Cousland ordered. "Go, and make sure Howe gets what he deserves."

Elissa tried to retort, tears blocking her words.

Two men burst into the kitchen, weapons drawn.

"There they are!" They shouted to warn their comrades. An arrow struck one of them in the eye, killing him on the spot, while the other was thrown to the ground and mauled by the mabari.

However, it was too late. More heavy footsteps announced that the cry had been heard, and soon the kitchen would be overrun by enemies, too many for them to defeat them all.

Elissa turned desperately to her mother, who lowered her bow for a moment, looking solemny into her eyes.

"Go, honey." She said, pointing her weapon back at the doorway.

"Mother..."

"There's no time." She interrupted her. "I'll hold them off as long as I can."

The girl looked one last time at her parents, crying.

"May the Maker protect you, pup." Said Bryce Cousland, leaning his shoulders against the wall and closing his eyes.

"Go!" Eleanor Cousland yelled back at her, knocking down the first man who entered.

Elissa felt her legs move on their own.

She stepped into the narrow passage, Cookie behind her, watching her back. The air smelled of smoke and it was hard to breathe. The passage curved several times on itself, descending with steep stairs, the slippery walls making it impossible to grab a safe hold.

She didn't care if she was a sobbing mess, not even feeling the pain when her knees hit the floor violently, finding herself on the ground without realizing she had lost her balance. Her eyes were misty with tears, her leg felt like burning. She ignored the wound, struggling to get back on her feet: she felt her pants soaked with blood under the armor, but she moved on.

After what felt like an eternity, the long corridor ended.

The exit led to the back of the castle, where the horses were the hay to feed them were kept. A wave of heat and flames signaled that Howe's men had set fire to the stables. The neighing of pain from the horses and the desperate screams of those trapped within filled the air.

Elissa looked around in despair; there was no way out of that place.

She turned to Cookie, who despite everything did not flinch from the flames. The hound looked at her, waiting for an order.

_It's over._ It had all been for nothing, they would either burn to death or Howe's men would find them and slaughter them like they had done to the rest of her family. And Fergus would never know what had happened.

_Fergus._

She had to warn her brother, before they could end his life as well.

Cookie sprang forward, leaping into the flames and through them.

Elissa's eyes widened, wiping her face. _Not like this, I won't make it easy for them._

She covered her face with her arm and threw herself into the flames as well.

She felt something wet and slimy licking her face. She lifted her arms off the ground with a groan, trying to pull herself to her feet and slipping on the muddy ground. She opened her eyes.

Cookie whined loudly, trying again to lick her cheek. Elissa hugged him, relieved that they were both still alive. She looked around, discovering that she was on the bank of the river that ran under Highever. From a distance, she could see the castle, still shrouded in a thick cloud of black smoke. She forced herself to look away, feeling the tears roll down her cheeks and making no attempt to stop them.

"We need to get to Fergus." She said to the mabari, who was looking at her worriedly. "Howe will pay for what he did."

She staggered back to her feet, her determined gaze pointed south.


	5. Orzammar I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natia Brosca and Duran Aeducan could not be more different.  
> And yet, they end up face one another in the Proving Grounds.

"If you're a cloudgazer in Orzammar to smuggle lyrium.... What's the first place you go to?"

Natia Brosca slammed open the Tapster's front door. The young woman inhaled the strong smell of beer and alcohol, licking her lips, ignoring the outraged comments of the other customers at the sight of two brands walking in. She ran a hand through her mass of hair, bright red like her sister's, but worn braided and short to not get in the way during fights, and proceded towards the bar.

The dwarf behind it looked in disgust at the tattoos on their faces. "We don't serve castless."

Natia exchanged an amused look with her companion, Leske, playing apparently mindlessly with one of the ugly, deadly looking knifes she always carried around hidden somewhere.  
"Take a good look at us and try again." She said to the innkeeper.

That one widened his eyes, staring first at the knife, then at their tattoos and finally back to the weapons they carried. "Oh, sorry, are you...? But of course!" He stammered. "Is there anything I can do for you?" 

"You can tell us where to find someone named Oskias." Leske replied. 

The other swallowed dryly. "Yes... he's here, been staring at same tankard for hours. But he paid good money, in advance. What did he do?" 

Natia leaned against the counter, looking him straight in the eye, enjoying the innkeeper's fear. "To begin with, he didn't offer us a drink." 

"Ah... Allow me to make it up to you!" The dwarf wiped the sweat on his forehead with the back of his hand then turned around, fumbled with two tankards and set them down on the ounter filled to the brim. He pushed them towards the two castless, quickly withdrawing his hands and putting a safe distance between himself and them. "Well, do what you need to do, I'll be in the back doing my thing if you need me..." He stammered, walking away. 

Natia and Leske calmly grabbed the mugs, tapping them on the stone of the counter and making a loud noise. The girl brought it to her lips, smelling the aroma, and then chugged it all down with a satisfied burp. 

"Salroka! You might as well enjoy it..." The companion rebuked her, taking a sip and tasting it.

"And sulk for the rest of the year?" She retorted. "Best not to remember it too much, otherwise the lichen and mossy crap we usually drink will only taste worse." 

The other grunted his disagreement. "I'd rather enjoy the good things in life." He took two long sips, squinting his eyes. "A good beer, a beautiful woman... by the way, how is your wonderful sister?" 

Natia ignored the twinge of jealousy that clutched at her gut every time Leske or anyone else made an appreciation about Rica. She knew she wasn't as beautiful as she was, she certainly didn't have her grace and appearance, her clean, delicate hands and full red lips, her always perfectly painted face.... "Never better, if she doesn't get knocked up by some lord in a couple of weeks maybe you'll even have a chance with her." She replied sourly.

The tone of her voice, of course, did not escape her companion. "Salroka, you're not jealous, are you?" He patted her on the shoulder. "No one else can do magic with those knives. And you have golden hands with locks and bags. A little less so with anything else, but..."

Before he could finish his sentence, Natia returned the pat, putting a fair amount of strength into it. Ignoring his protests, she downed the rest of her beer. "Hurry up, we've got work to do."  
Reluctantly, Leske did too. 

The dwarf they were looking for, a surfacer who didn't even wear the brand of the casteless as it was customary to do, was sitting at a stone table, his gaze lost in the tankard. He seemed to be waiting for someone.

Natia took the chair straight in front of him, sitting down with a grin.

"That seat is taken!" He protested, startled.

Leske stood behind him, just putting a hand on his shoulders.

"Yes, by me." Natia retorted. "Now empty your pockets without making a scene."

Oskias shifted his gaze from her to Leske, visibly frightened. "You don't know who I'm working with!"

Natia unsheathed the knife with swiftness, planting the tip of it into one of the cracks in the table and holding it firmly upright. "Who do you think sent us, waker?" She nodded to his companion, who grabbed the bag the dwarf held next to him. That one yelped in fright, holding tightly to it. 

"Listen... I've always been loyal to Beraht, me and my family owe him a lot..."

Leske snatched the bag from his hand, rummaging through the contents. "Ah! Looks like we found something." He said after a while, smiling in the girl's direction.

Oskias panicked. "All right! I have two lyrium nuggets, I was supposed to sell them to a contact of mine..." He whispered, almost crying. "Please, it's the first time." 

"First and last." Natia sentenced. "Although we could gain something from this, Leske."

Her friend looked at her questioningly. "Behind Beraht's back?" He said in a very low voice.

Natia turned the hilt of the knife in her hands. "There'll be no witnesses." 

Oskias sprang to his feet, grabbing the hilt of his own sword. Before he could even halfway pull it out, he jerked and slumped with a groan onto the table, one of Leske's daggers sticking out of his back, lodged in all the way to the hilt. He made a try to get back up, but Natia grabbed him by the hair, leaning over and lifting his face toward her. 

"Nothing personal." She told him, before plunging her own knife into his eye socket. Oskias gasped one last time and collapsed on the ground. 

"Nothing to see here, we're done!" Leske announced loudly, crossing the gazes of a few curious onlookers. The other patrons of the Tapster, who had understood from the beginning what was about to happen, hurried back to their own business, head down. 

Natia retrieved her weapon, wiping the blade on the corpse's clothes. Leske did the same.

"So, what are we going to do with these?" He asked her in a low voice, pointing to the open bag but not pulling out the contents. After all, it was likely that Beraht had contacts there at the time as well.

"One we sell, the other we use as evidence that he was ripping him off." Natia decided.

"I know someone who'll buy it. Fifty-fifty?"  
"Of course, like everything." 

They walked out of the tavern, looking around and heading for one of the merchants' stalls in the Commons. Everyone they encountered looked at them in disgust, sometimes hurling insults at them. Two casteless people around the market, the gall they had!

As a child Natia would have blushed with shame, barely holding back her tears. But that time was long gone: she puffed out her chest and cut through the square with her head held high, ignoring the comments and grinning in amusement. 

"You're in a good mood today." Leske said with a sneer.

“When I can make some side profit? Yeah.”

They approached a stall displaying various utility items. A good-looking woman greeted them cordially. "Leske! What are you doing here, trying to seduce me into getting more ribbons for your girlfriend?" 

"Trying to talk you into being my girl, Olinda. You know my heart's breaking for you." The dwarf greeted her back, putting on his best face at the woman. 

Natia looked up at the ceiling with a grimace. 

"Don't you go saying that around my husband... Who's your friend?"

"I can't believe it, Leske never told you about his best friend?" Natia replied in a sarcastic tone, casting a venomous glance at her companion. 

"Hey, when I'm with a lady, the last thing I bring up is you." He laughed heartily, slapping her shoulder. “And I hope you do the same thing when hooking up with someone...”

"Asshole." 

"Well, I can give you a discount, since you're friends, but nothing's free." Said Olinda, looking at them in amusement. 

"Actually, we wanted to sell." Natia announced, handing her the bag.

The woman quickly took it, hiding it from view behind the counter. "I don't know where you got it, nor I want to. Thirty silvers."

"Just that?!" Leske complained. It was obviously much less than it was worth.

"The market it's only on the surface, and it will take me some work to resell it. And I'll have to find someone who won't ask questions about where it came from." Explained the woman. 

"Deal." Natia cut short. Thirty pieces of silver was about as much as she could scrape together in two months of working for Beraht. They took the money, hurrying away from the counter. 

"Before we go to Beraht, let me hide the money at home." Said Natia. "I wouldn't want him going through our pockets..." 

"Good idea." Nodded Leske. "That is, if your mother doesn't find it and it all ends up in a pool of vomit after one of her usual tantrums." 

"She only has to try." Growled the girl, clenching her fists.

They quickly walked back to Dust Town, and Natia walked up to her house. Opening the front door, the familiar stench of cheap wine joined that of the perfume Natia's sister, Rica, used to make herself smell good for the nobles up in the Diamond Quarter. 

"Who is it? What do you want? Rica, is that you?" 

Natia snorted loudly. "I am the King of Orzamamar." She replied, slamming the door behind her. The thud made her mother jump, and she almost dropped the nearly empty bottle she was holding.

"Don't fuck with me, you ungrateful girl! I made you, and I can make another one just like you." Muttered Kalah. Her breath reeked of cheap wine and whatever else she'd been drinking.

"Then walk out and good luck in getting someone to knock you up reeking like that... I'm the only reason you're not dead in some alley." She retorted.

"Then let me die! What reason do I have to stay alive anyway?" Her mother took another sip from the bottle, shaking it in disappointment after discovering it was empty.

"That's what I ask myself every fucking day." She turned her back on her, going into the other room. A trunk, filled mostly with Rica's stuff, was laid in one corner. On the other side was an small stone alcove with a sort of ugly tub. She walked over to it, moving a couple of stones and hiding the leather pouch with the silver coins she had made from selling the lyrium nugget. She then walked back towards the door, where Kalah was mumbling something she couldn't quite catch. "I'm leaving. You can drown yourself in that shit for all I care." 

"Don't you dare talk to me like that! It's still my house you live in! My house, you get it?!" Shouted her mother, stumbling over the words and waving the bottle in the air.

Natia lost it. She strode to the table, slamming both hands on the stone surface and making all the empty bottles fall off it. "Who the fuck you think is paying for this shack?” She yelled.

Her mother retreated back into her chair, eyes wide.

Natia snatched the bottle from her hands, waving it in front of her nose. "And whose fucking money you think you're spending to kill yourself with this stuff?!" She looked at the bottle, then threw it violently against the wall. It exploded into a thousand pieces, scattering shards everywhere. "If it wasn't for me, you'd be begging some asshole to buy the last three good teeth you have left in your useless mouth, ready to get down on your knees just for a sip of that crap!"

The woman stared at her with wide eyes. It wasn't the first time Natia had lost her temper like that, but it didn't happen often. Mostly because the girl did everything she could to spend as little time as possible in the house, and those few times she actually came home, her mother was often passed out in the chair or out getting more bottles. 

"Choose a cheaper way to die, because I'm done with you." Natia growled, averting her gaze and waling out. Whatever Beraht's next assignment was for her and Leske, it would certainly be far better than all the shit she had to put up with at home.

* * *

Lord Duran Aeducan, second son of the King of Orzammar Endrin of House Aeducan, was carefully braiding his brown beard, making sure it didn't get tangled and that the strands were all the same thickness, which required no small amount of attention. He unfortunately got interrupted by his second, who burst into the room hardly without knocking.

"My lord." Gorim announced himself. "Your weapon has been polished and sharpened." He handed him the large waraxe, which Duran weighed for a few moments before settling it on his back. 

"Thank you, Gorim." He inhaled deeply. "We can go."

The comrade-in-arms seemed to understand the Prince's reluctance. "The King expects your presence at the banquet, certainly, but there is no rush. All the noble families will spend hours making all kinds of requests and complaints to your father..."

"Believe me, my friend, I would rather find myself in the Deep Roads facing an army of Darkspawn than untangle myself from whiny, vindictive politicians." Commented Duran. Politics was in his blood, nine Aeducans had ascended to the throne, including his father, but even so the prince preferred the simple art of war over taking into account which deshyr was plotting what against whom in favor of which reform that would line the pockets of other castes and lineages.

A Hurlock could be a formidable opponent, but an axe planted between the eyes was always the best strategy. The same, unfortunately, could not be said about the daily plots of the Assembly deshyrs. 

"That is precisely what this was about, my lord. Lord Harrowmont has called for Provings to test in duels the young men who will accompany you on your expedition into the Deep Roads tomorrow. Perhaps we should go and show them what fighting is really all about." He scratched his beard, thoughtfully. "Well, you should show them. I'll give you my support from the stands." 

"What are we waiting for, then? It could turn the day around." Accepted Duran enthusiastically. Fighting in at least one confrontation would greatly boost his morale.

They walked toward the entrance, passing the room of Duran's younger brother, Bhelen. A flicker of red hair and a strong feminine scent, followed by a surprised gasp, caught their attention. He heard the door to his brother's room slam shut.

  
Duran sighed deeply before turning and retracing his steps. He knocked three times, only to enter without waiting for an answer. 

"I deeply apologize your highness!" A girl exclaimed. The first thing that stood out was the tattoo she had on her right cheek, a sign that she belonged to the casteless. She had bright red hair tied up in a rather elaborate hairstyle and a dress that was too ornate and elegant for someone like her. "I thought you were Prince Bhelen and I..."

Duran shook his head, raising a hand to shush her. "No matter, don't worry. However, my brother will be at the banquet for the rest of the evening, so you should leave." 

The girl bowed deeply, keeping her back straight, a sign that she had been well trained. Like her, many other girls, the prettiest and most prosperous, were embellished and educated to be pleasing and attract the attention of the nobles like him and his brothers. This was convenient both for the concubines, who were moved to the lodgings of the upper castes' family with all their close relatives, and for the noble and influential warrior caste families, as they would be given new sons to be trained to fight against the Darkspawn. 

"Of course, my lord. Thank you..." Said the girl before running away. Duran noticed that she carried a nice necklace, which could only be a gift from her brother. 

"He must really like her. Well, I'm not surprised, Bhelen is known to have a thing for redheads." 

He heard Gorim chuckle. They walked out of the Palace, past the various stalls that the merchants had set up in the Diamond District, and headed for the door that led to the stairs to the lower floor, where the Proving Grounds were located. On their way, two promiscuous-looking girls called their attention, but Duran dismissed them with a wave oh his hand. He was definitely not in the mood. 

A few of King Endrin's personal guards were waiting to escort them to the Arena.

They could hear the crowd screaming and shouting long before they looked out from the balcony overlooking the Grounds.

"Your Highness, it is an honor to have you here." The Proving Master greeted him. "Have you come to see these brave warriors fight in your honor?"

"Actually, the idea was to fight myself." The prince admitted.

"Your Highness, today's Provings are being fought in your honor..."

"Then honor them by doing what your prince commands." Gorim interrupted him.

Duran put a hand on his friend's shoulder, hushing him. There was no need to be so hard on the Master, his was a just observation. "My intention is to honor today's fighters by challenging them to a duel and testing their skills against me." He explained to the man. “I think they'd like that.”

"Of course, your highness, as is your right." The man bowed. He approached the balustrade, clearing his throat as Duran prepared to enter the Grounds.

"Ladies and gentlemen of Orzammar, we have a last minute entry into these Provings." The crowd rumbled, eagerly awaiting the mysterious candidate. "Behold, Lord Duran Aeducan himself!"

A roar rose from the stands. Hundreds of dwarves rose to their feet, shouting their approval loudly as they watched the king's second son make his entrance. In his exquisitely crafted armor and broad shoulders, glorious beard and authoritative yet pleasant face, it was hard not to like the prince.

"This is a glory Proving, fought under the watchful eyes of the Paragons of Orzammar, for the honor of House Aeducan!" Announced the Proving Master. 

Duran raised an arm in salute to the screaming crowd, then faced his opponent. 

"Lord Aeducan will fight Aller Bemot, the youngest son of Lord Bemot!" The crowd rumbled their encouragement.

"You honor me with this fight, your highness." Said Aller Bemot, bowing his head. “May the Stone show the boldest heart trough the strongest arm”

Both challengers lowered their helmets over their heads, readying their weapons. 

"First warrior to fall, is vanquished. Fight!" 

His challenger wasn't too bad, he had good technique and knew how to use the war hammer he carried, however he was no match for the prince. Duran made the fight last longer than necessary, performing some exaggerated blows just to show off while he carefully avoided Bemot's attempts to hit him making the fight believable. He did not want to bring dishonor to the other warrior. 

After some time, he decided it was time to finish, landing a precise blow on the other's shoulder, unbalancing him and then aiming at his sternum with the flat of his weapon to send him to the ground. The crowd erupted in a roar of appreciation. 

Duran rearranged his axe on his shoulders, taking off his helmet and holding it under his arm while he stretched out a hand towards his opponent. 

Bemot, a little bruised and slightly bleeding, grabbed it without a second thought, scrambling back to his feet and smiling in the direction of the audience. 

Duran's next opponent was Adal Helmi, a woman with a slender build and light armor that allowed her to move quickly and deadly. After a fierce fight, and a couple of hard bruises, Duran was once again the winner. 

The last challenger was an almost elderly, bald, gray-bearded dwarf by the name of Ser Blackstone of the Warrior Caste, who was in charge of a legion in the Deep Roads. "This will be a lesson to you, boy. Try to learn something while you bleed." He grinned.

Duran had met him a few times on the battlefield and had never liked him much. He'd heard high praise of the man's military prowess, but also many complaints from the new recruits, who found him too harsh and prone to self-praise.

"Good luck to you, too." Duran retorted without flinching. There was no need to mock him with words, the old man would be out on his ass pretty soon. And this time, there was no need to hold back, given his opponent's fame.

Ser Blackstone returned to the fighters' waiting room carried by four dwarves, unconscious, with the audience shouting out at the top of their lungs their support for Prince Aeducan.

The prince went back to his seat with a satisfied grin on his face.

"A very good show, my lord." Gorim told him.

All that remained was to watch the other challengers face each other, to see who would fight against the prince in the final confrontation.

One warrior in particular caught Duran's attention.

He fought with two short swords, holding them in a really unconventional way, moving almost like a deepstalker, darting here and there and surprising his opponents by focusing more on speed than on actual technique. After being cornered, Duran could swear he saw him throw a handful of dirt into his opponent's eyes, eventually sending him to the ground with a kick to the nether regions and pointing one of the two blades in front of the helmet's eye slit.

"He is definitely not a conventional fighter, my lord, but he is effective." Gorim commented amused. The crowd seemed to share his views, for they had begun to shout the dwarf's name loudly. The one raised his arm in victory, tho never removing his helmet.

"Everd Bera." Repeated Duran. "How come I've never heard of him?"

"Because before now he was only known for being a great drinker capable of only defeating many barrels of ale and a few nugs in a fair duel." Gorim explained with a chuckle. "Today seems to be his good day, though."

"If he defeats another one, the audience will have something to enjoy." The prince said. He signaled to one of the servants nearby to fill his mug with honey beer, taking two long sips and eagerly watching Everd prepare for his next fight.

The new opponent was a novice of the Silent Sisters, Lenka. If she passed the Proving, she would officially join the Order, renowned for its deadly female warriors. Lenka also fought with two blades.

The Proving Master announced that, under the circumstances, the fight was to be considered to the death, as it was the final test the novice would face.

Everd did not flinch under his helmet, standing absolutely still in the center of the Grounds, weapons already drawn and ready to attack.

It was a bitter fight with an uncertain outcome.

The novice's skills were clearly superior, however Everd showed an extraordinary ability to adapt to the different fighting styles of his opponents, constantly changing techniques to the point that the prince ended up wondering if he actually had one. His lunges seemed completely random and yet they always went to cut the novice's armor where it was most vulnerable, jumping right back and dodging his opponent's blades without them being able to scratch him. Everd was fighting on pure instinct and viciousness, not hesitating to use everything at his disposal, and it all worked.

Duran almost jumped on his seat when the initiate managed to throw his opponent to the ground, hitting him in the side and drawing blood. But Lenka was too slow to deliver the killing blow: Everd, crawling on one side, kicked her from the ground, hitting her leg throwing her off. She fell on her knees, trying to get up, but Everd had already got back on his feet, jumping against her and throwing her down with his whole weight.

When the helmeted warrior stood up, one of his blades was stuck in the novice's neck.

The audience, after a moment of hesitation, exploded in a triumphant applause, paying homage to the warrior and buzzing with anticipation for the final clash between Prince Aeducan and the new unlikely opponent.

Duran rose to his feet, clapping his hands and letting out a roar of approval.

"Now that's going to be a worthy fight!" He shouted, finishing his ale and tucking his helmet under the arm, ready to enter the Grounds.

* * *

Natia Brosca's heart was beating like crazy.

Her right side, where that dumb bitch had hit her, hurt like a motherfucker, while the blood spilling from a wound on her forehead made it hard to keep her left eye open. That damn helmet was too heavy and too big for her, so when she'd been hit by a blow to the head, the metal inside had scratched her face. Her shoulders ached from the weight of the armor, she was almost out of air and could barely breathe under all that stuff.

The crowd, rich and nobles with scented beards and square stone asses from sitting around and getting lost in chatter all day long, were cheering for her.

"Technically, for Everd." She told herself, however underneath that armor it was her, not the clueless drunkard everyone thought she was. She had defeated the three warriors that stood between her and the final Proving, at it was her that the audience cheered loudly.

The Proving Master reappeared from the balcony above the Grounds, hushing the excited yells.

"Everd Bera will advance to the final fight, which will decide the true Proving Champion, against Prince Duran Aeducan!"

The prince in question made his entrance, a good-looking dwarf, his thick, braided brown beard falling over a massive suit of armor that probably cost as the sum total of all the armor of the warriors she had faced that day. The prince advanced boldly, holding the gigantic waraxe and showing it to the audience, who rose to their feet in an ovation that echoed in her ears, overpowering the frantic beating of her heart for a few moments.

She, a casteless, a brand, the worst scum of Orzammar, was about to challenge the beloved Prince Aeducan, the same one that everyone in the city spoke as favorite to the king's throne.

If she could beat him... She shook her head, there was no point in getting distracted.

"You fight well. It is an honor to have such a worthy opponent." The prince told her, slightly bowing his head.

 _Leske must be laughing is ass off. A prince bowing down to a duster!_ She did her best to answer, careful not to misspell her words, then unsheathed the two short swords. They were longer and heavier than the knives she was used to, but the blade cut through the leather of the armor and the skin beneath it as if they were made of water. A delight.

The two challengers began to circle around each other, carefully studying one another. Brosca was almost painfully aware of the hundreds of eyes trained on her. She stared at the warrior, how confidently he moved, as if it was just a clash over the last mug of nice ale.

The Prince stopped suddenly, interrupting the semicircle they were walking in, as if to invite her to come forward. Natia could have bet that he was grinning proudly under his pretty armor. She decided not to fall for it, stopping and staying still at a safe distance. _Bring it on, asshole._

The other accepted the challenge.

He lifted the waraxe, advancing toward her much faster and more gracefully than Natia had expected. In an instant he was onto her, and she had to quickly dodge to avoid having her side smashed in. She skew that her armor, however well made, would not have withstood such a blow: the prince was richly equipped, but he was no doll and she wasn't gonna underestimate him.

Without giving her a moment's thought, the prince swung his axe, raising it behind his head, and made to strike her from above, forcing her to jump again on the side. Seizing the opportunity, Natia threw herself forward, surpassing him and turning on herself, aiming under the shoulder straps, where the armor must have had a joint. The blade reached the shoulder but only nicked the metal, as the prince had turned slightly, immediately returning to raise his own weapon.

Natia, off-balance, had no choice but to throw herself on the ground to avoid the waraxe knocking in her chest. She rolled sideways in the dust, dodging another slash from above.

The axe blade momentarily slammed into the ground, giving her time to spring forward and strike her opponent in the arm. Once again, the armor cushioned the blow.

The prince released his weapon with a yank, making it rotate nimbly and forcing Brosca to jump away.

Natia had to take a few steps back, to catch her breath.

The prince seemed to be swinging that thing around like a knife, and that ton of metal he was wearing lef no visible spots except for a few inches at the joints, but with him dancing around like that she had no chance to close enough. She could only dodge. 

The crowd clamored, for the heavy hits had yet to land. 

Natia had completely lost the sight in her left eye, now encrusted with dried blood. Her arms felt like they were on fire and her side ached terribly, impeding her movements. She looked at the prince, but he seemed fresh and well rested. Indeed, she had fought three fights in a row before that, while he was probably drinking his ass off in a comfortable chair enjoying the show. 

She gritted his teeth, taking two steps forward and preparing for another exchange. 

The prince strode confidently towards her, holding tightly to the damn waraxe. 

The crowd suddenly fell silent. 

"Hey! That's my armor!" Someone mumbled aloud. 

Brosca turned sharply: Everd, his shirt still stained with beer and vomit, staggered unsteadily toward the two fighters, arm pointed in her direction. _Oh, fuck me._

"Who are you?!" Thundered the Proving Master. "And how dare you interrupt-" 

"I know him! It's Everd!" Shouted someone. 

The crowd rumbled in surprise. 

"You!" The Master then howled, pointing at Natia. "Take off your helmet, and show yourself!" 

Natia stepped back in fright. If they saw her... What was the punishment for such a thing?

"Your skills are impressive, but you are one man. Show yourself, lest I call the guards and have them do it for you!" At his signal, three more dwarves entered the Grounds, surrounding her.

The prince approached as well, his previously amused appearance now gone.  
Feeling trapped, the girl gave in.

She dropped her weapons to the ground, lifting her hands and bringing them to the sides of her head. She inhaled sharply, before lifting the helmet and throwing it at her feet. 

The crowd screamed in indignation, the guards were petrified. Even Prince Aeducan froze in surprise. 

Natia Brosca forced herself to raise her chin in defiance. 

"Casteless!" Screamed the Master in outrage. "You insult the very nature of these Provings!" 

The girl held up her gaze in silence. Whatever she'd try to say would be ignored anyway. She allowed herself to be dragged away by the guards, offering no resistance. As they led her away, she saw the Prince remove his helmet, shocked and angered.

_That's gonna sting for a long time... getting their ass handed to them by a duster!_

If she was gonna be dead in a few hours, at least she'd die with a smile on her face: no casteless had ever dared to even think such a thing. 

Then someone then hit her in the head, knocking her unconscious.

She woke up in pain, her head throbbing and her side hurting like it was on fire. The dried blood on her face stank almost as bad as the air around her. She was lying with her back against the stone, the ceiling was low and full of stalactites. She struggled to sit up, rubbing her eye.

"Natia! Are you awake?" Someone called to her in a whisper. "Can you hear me?"

"Leske?" She answered in a slurred voice, recognizing her friend. "What are you doing here?"

"I thought I'd keep you company." He replied sarcastically. "As soon as they found out about you, everyone lost their shit. They started checking the caste of everyone in the Proving Grounds... when they found out about me, they immediately though I was working with you. They questioned me, but I think they already knew who was behind everything..." 

"It's not one of the usual cells." Observed Natia. "Where are we?"

"Beraht must have paid someone off. These are definitely not the guards' prisons." 

The girl cursed through her teeth. "What's the punishment for kicking the entire Warrior Caste's ass?" She asked, though she already had an idea. 

"Public flogging. Cutting off your left hand for stealing armor, your right hand for soiling a blacksmith's work, flaying in public for impersonating a member of an upper caste..." Listed Leske. "And if you're not dead yet, execution for desecrating the Provings." 

Natia snorted loudly, leaning her head against the wall behind her. "Well, at least they'll have something fun to remember me by.”

"That's for sure, salroka. You were awesome." 

They got interrupted by footsteps. Jarvia, Beraht's right hand, emerged from the darkness.

"Good, you're awake." She said, grinning. "You caused a big mess and Beraht lost a hundred sovereigns. The Provings have been declared invalid and the Assembly has an investigation going on. You can't even imagine how Beraht was feeling when he told me to come get you." This seemed to amuse her terribly. "Enjoy your last night together. Too bad we put you in separate cells, or I would have wished you one last fuck." She left with a grin even larger than the one she had come in.

Natia fell silent for a moment, looking around. She caught sight of metal shards on the floor. "Leske, I don't know about you, but I'm not gonna sit here and wait for that creep to kill us like nugs." She announced, before getting to work on the cell lock. It was rusty, and those were definitely not her fine tools, but after a few tries the door creaked open. Exultant, she got out and hurried to do the same to her friend's cell door.

  
They found themselves wandering the corridors, retrieving weapons and avoiding the boss's henchmen so as not to alert the entire building. Twice Natia had to take out a couple of them blocking their way, but they got away with it without too much trouble, quickly getting to where the exit was supposed to be. 

"If that freak of a sister of hers can't stay in her place, I don't have any use for precious Rica either." Someone said, their muffled voice coming from behind a door. 

"Beraht." Natia recognized him immediately. She pressed herself against the door, listening. 

"Rica?" Another dwarf commented. "I've been wanting to get my hands on that..."

She heard Beraht laugh.“She's all yours if you want to... and let me tell you, it tastes as good as it looks.” 

Leske tried to pull her away, but Natia had no intention of leaving. Picking on her was one thing, but she wasn't going to let Beraht and his filthy henchmen touch her sister. 

She kicked the door open, throwing herself at her boss and taking advantage on the element of surprise.

"We did great!" Leske exclaimed, patting her on the back. "You charged at him then threw him to the ground and-" He recalled the action with the knife in the air. "He didn't see that coming!"

Natia grinned proudly, wiping Beraht's blood from her face with the back of her hand. The asshole had a knife stuck in his throat and died in agony, a sight for their eyes. She looked at the dwarf's corpse on the ground, lying in a pool of dark blood. She then jingled the bag of coins they had retrieved by rummaging through the pockets of the three dead men, then tossed it to Leske, who caught it smiling.

"Let's move, if they've already put someone to take care of Rica..." Natia spat on Beraht's body. "This bastard should be skewered another couple times, for good measure."

They walked out the back door, which led to an alley in the Commons. They walked quickly toward Dust Town, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

Natia walked slightly behind her friend, head down to avoid anyone from recognizing her. Several guards patrolled the marketplace, and five were posted to block the passageway to the lower levels.

Leske turned to her, stopping and looking at her questioningly. "What do we do?" He asked her. “We could take a back alley, but it's gonna take some time.”

Natia sighed. "Leske. Swear to me that you'll take care of my sister."

He widened his eyes. "Salroka, what's up with you?"

She shook her head. "I'm trusting you, alright?" She placed a hand on his shoulder, striding past him with her head held high, walking in the direction of the guards with a fierce grin on her face.  
"Hey, you fancy-pants! You want to get your asses kicked a second time, or was it enough at the Provings?"


End file.
